I Can See It Now
by justsomebrittanagleek
Summary: A collection of prompts that belong to the 'If It Hurts This Much' Universe!
1. (Prequel) Not Quite There Yet

**IMPORTANT: THIS IS SET BEFORE _'I CAN SEE IT NOW'_**

**IT IS A PREQUEL**

* * *

**Title: **Not Quite There Yet  
**Rating: **PG-13**  
Word Count: **4.2k**  
Summary: **Their argument stems from something that happens so quickly she's not actually sure it happened. Part of the _If If Hurts This Much _universe!

**Notes: **Taken from a few prompts that I sort of merged together.

* * *

Their argument stems from something that happens so quickly she's not actually sure it happened.

It's actually _so _quick that when Santana watches Brittany storm out the store, red in the face and blue eyes full of tears, she just stands there, looking around and wondering what the hell just happened just like the other people around her are.

She seriously can't even remember what she did. One moment they were paying for their groceries, and the next Brittany's shaking her head at Santana and marching out the damn store.

_Fuck_. They were only buying fucking groceries.

* * *

_After one particular discussion about how they wanted to try out everything that couples could do together, whether it was cheesy or not, they landed on going grocery shopping together._

_For some reason it made Brittany excited and so the next day, they went shopping just outside of the city, parking their brand new black Range Rover in the parking lot of the superstore and walked hand in hand up to the little alcove that contained all the shopping carts to grab one, before entering the store._

_And Santana admits, as they walked through the automatic doors and saw like, a million other couples shopping, some with kids strapped into the kiddy-friendly seats on the carts, she felt that same excitement that Brittany did the previous day._

_Anyway, they began to walk up and down the aisles, picking up the usual bits like butter, bread, beer and soda, and that's when things started getting interesting. They came to one particular aisle—the confectionery one—and Santana swore to the heavens that she'd never seen so much chocolate._

_Sure, it's not like this was the first time she'd ever gone grocery shopping, but she'd never been to such a domestic one like that one. It was full of couples and children and babies and whoa, Santana saw her future flash before her eyes, and it definitely made her smile idiotically and stomach flip uncontrollably._

_So yeah, they were walking down the confectionery aisle and Brittany paused in front of a variety of different chocolate bars, peering over her shoulder at Santana who was lent against the cart with her head hung down a little—grocery shopping was tiring, okay?—and thought of an idea._

_Santana had no clue to that and when she felt her wife's presence right beside her, she picked up her head and glanced at her, eyes finding two large bars of chocolate in each of Brittany's hands. Instantly, she was curious. Brittany was never a big chocolate person, so this was pretty strange._

"_Got some cravings, Britt?" She joked, nudging her chin down to the confectionery._

"_Nope. Idea, actually."_

_Santana narrowed her eyes, curious. There was that little glint in Brittany's eye that made a perfectly shaped eyebrow raise and the room heat up by like, at least ten degrees. "What's that?"_

"_Which do you think…" the blonde trailed off, smirking lightly and letting her eyes drift down to the chocolate before back up to meet interested brown eyes. "Would taste better if I licked it off you?"_

_All the air seemed to disappear from the room and Santana gulped heavily, fingers clenching around the bars of the shopping cart. There was no way in hell she could get a boner here. She was wearing skinny fucking jeans for God's sake! That shit is hard to hide in pants thattight!_

"_Britt," she managed to get out, voice raspy. Even her damn voice was dripping with arousal. "You can't say shit like that here."_

_Brittany's eyebrow cocked like she knew exactly what she was doing. "Why, baby? You getting—" she lent in until her lips were brushing a tanned ear. "—Hot for me?"_

_She pulled back and Santana licked her lips, looking around before pressing their mouths together hard. There were kids and families walking around but she just couldn't help herself. She kissed Brittany hard and fast, stroking her tongue into Brittany's mouth and pulling their bodies together so her wife could feel the effect she had on her by her hip._

_They pulled away when they had to, both breathless, wild eyed and quite obviously wanting more. Santana bit down on her lip and lifted her eyebrow, and Brittany glanced between them to see the forming bulge in her wife's crotch, a smirk crossing her face and arousal darkening her eyes._

_It was so wrong to be so turned on in such a public place—fuck, they were around freaking children—but it was just so hard not to be. They were both teasing each other and God did Santana just want to dump the shopping, throw Brittany over her shoulder, march back to the car and show her an advantage to having blacked out windows._

_But she couldn't, so she just gazed at her wife and thought about exactly what was happening to her physically and how her body was going through the stages of being turned on. That was one of the things Santana loved to learn about Brittany during the early part of their relationship. She studied Brittany, studied her body and her mind and knew exactly how long it'd take for her wife to get worked up and how she got worked up._

_How her eyes darkened first, and how her body would shudder if Santana would touch her during that process. How if they were lying down, Brittany's back would push off the bed, hips pressing down and eyes squeezing shut as the arousal flooded through her._

_It was one of the most incredible things Santana had ever known, and she remembered how they spent three days in bed together, wrapped up in each other and making love until they weren't physically able to anymore._

_She remembered how they would lie completely naked and comfortable next to each other after making love, Santana on her side with her head propped up in her hand and her other hand mapping out every inch of Brittany's skin, her brain taking in everything about her. Every freckle, every scar and every inch of skin would be touched and memorized by Santana's hands, and after she'd completed the map with her hands, she began using her lips to memorize it, too._

_And that's how she got here, standing in the middle of a supermarket, thinking about all of that and feeling as those images shot through her mind and down to her groin, making her strain against the inside of her jeans._

_She knew she shouldn't be thinking of that but it was just too damn hard. Literally._

_But at least she knew that she was having the exact same effect on Brittany. Her wife was standing straight, legs pressed together tighter and thighs pinched even tighter. Her eyes were dark and hooded and her fingers were plucking with the hem of her shirt, barely touching the skin beneath._

_They really needed to get out of there._

"_Let's pay," Santana blurted, pushing the cart with one hand and grabbing a pale hand with the other, tugging them down to the check outs._

_She planned on getting out of their quickly, but because God had some vendetta on her, all the queues were like, a mile long. She groaned and slumped forward, listening to Brittany giggle beside her, a hand rubbing at her back to calm her down. She was frustrated. She just wanted to pay for their groceries, get out of here and possibly drive home to take Brittany, but if not, the empty boot of their car would suffice in a secluded spot._

"_Let's just stick to this one," the blonde whispered and Santana pushed the cart to said check out, tapping her foot impatiently._

_She knew she needed to keep her mind off the frustration, off Brittany and off the growing bulge in her pants because if she didn't there might be some serious problems occurring in the coming few minutes. So instead she focused on anything around her and ended up staring at some toddlers a few check outs down. One had blonde hair with dark brown eyes, and the child beside it had blue eyes and dark brown hair and Santana smiled at how weird it was to look at them. She and Brittany could easily be their parents._

_The thought created this weird tingling low in her stomach and she shifted her weight onto the opposite leg, tilting her head to the side to just watch these kids. Admittedly it was a little creepy, but she was just thinking about how incredible it'd be if her and Brittany's children came out looking like that. Both had a little something of their parents._

_Then that idea started to develop and she began to bite on her lip, shifting her gaze to who she assumed to be the parents standing there. The father—she assumed he was the father—was tall, had broad shoulders and dark brown eyes. His hair was a dark brown too, it was little shaggy on top like he'd just rolled out of bed, and he had a five o'clock stubble. Not really surprising considering the children were young, and probably still required overnight care so that explained his appearance._

_And then she looked towards the mother. She had long blonde hair, like Brittany's but it was tied up into a ponytail. Santana smiled, remembering Brittany back in high school when she was on the Cheerios and thought about all those times she perved on her best friend 'cause that uniform looked really good on her. Her eyes were a greeny blue, but she was nothing compared to Brittany. She was alright for a mom, Santana guessed, but God, she couldn't help but think how hot Brittany would be as a mom._

_If they were had a boy, when it grew up, his friends would totally refer to Brittany as a MILF. And as far as Santana was concerned, that was fine with her._

_As her eyes focused on this woman, Santana noticed her stomach was protruding a little and stared. This woman was pregnant, for what looked like the third time. Her hand was resting shy of her belly button, but her face was positively glowing with excitement and joy. It made Santana smile and she couldn't help but sigh and imagine Brittany standing there like that, hand on her stomach, keeping contact with their unborn baby. Maybe some time in the future they could be where that couple were standing, with someone staring at them thinking about their future._

_In front of her the line moved and she shuffled down, unable to keep her eyes off this woman and her mind from thinking it was Brittany. Her stomach fluttered thinking about it and she was so focused on the pregnant blonde that she didn't realize her own blonde was trying to get her attention until a sharp pinch was delivered to her bicep. She whipped around instantly, eyes flitting to Brittany to find angered blue ones glaring straight back at her._

"_What the hell, Britt?" She demanded, releasing the shopping cart and using her free hand to rub the spot Brittany pinched. "What was that for?"_

"_Are you serious?" Brittany muttered, lowly, her eyes dark and hard._

"_Well, yeah," Santana said, dumbly. "You just fucking pinched me for no reason!"_

_She felt a little childish saying it but so what? There was no reason for that._

"_Oh, so I'm the bad guy, now?"_

"_How am _I _the bad guy?"_

_Brittany's features dropped and her blue eyes began to gloss. Her arms crossed over her chest and she looked away, shaking her head. And Santana hated that when they fought, Brittany never shouted. She never got really pissed off to the point where she would just yell and scream what she really meant, instead she'd shrink down and shrivel up and it'd made Santana feel like the worst person in the world because she was the complete opposite. She would yell and screech and lash out, and most of the time she even ended up screaming in Spanish since anger was like a trigger to her Puerto Rican routes._

_Which usually wouldn't be so bad, but with her standing in the middle of a supermarket with an almost crying wife, it made her look like a horrible person. Everyone would immediately jump to the conclusion that she did something wrong and yet she didn't do a thing. Brittany was the one that pinched her and started this not-really-an-argument argument, but of course it wouldn't look like that._

_Just thinking that made the anger double within her._

"_Well?" She said, raising both eyebrows expectantly. It came out more like a hiss and she regretted it the second it left her lips._

_Brittany huffed out angrily and looked back at her. Her mouth dropped open to say it but it snapped shut just as quickly and Santana didn't even have time to make a scathing remark about how she obviously couldn't be the 'bad guy' if Brittany couldn't give her a reason, but Brittany was also marching away from her, arms folded over her chest and legs leading her straight out the store._

_And Santana just watched her go._

_What the fuck happened?_

* * *

Everyone stares at her as she shoves a hundred dollars at the cashier and pushes the cart away from the checkout. Somehow her items are all packed and she guesses a packing boy did it or something but isn't in the right mindset to care or think about it. So she just moves quickly and swiftly leaves the store.

Her legs move a mile a second as she rushes through the parking lot, cursing beneath her breath when there's no sign of Brittany. Her hands release the cart and she whips her head from side to side, eyes searching the lot for her wife, but she can't see her wife anywhere, so she grabs the car keys out her pocket and opens the car, shoving all her groceries inside the car and jumping into the drivers seat.

She does a few circles of the parking lot, wondering where Brittany is but after the fourth she gives up, slams her fist against the steering wheel and drives home.

* * *

Brittany's casually sitting on the sofa when Santana gets home, legs pulled to her chest and chin resting on her knees. There's tears in her eyes and evidence of tried ones on her cheek, but Santana doesn't really focus on that as she barges through the door carrying like, a million bags and drops them, ignoring the pain in her fingers from where the handles were cutting off her blood circulation.

She's barely thrown her keys across the room when the words spill from her mouth, angered and loud. "What the fuck, Britt!?"

Brittany flinches and looks at her. "Don't yell at me, Santana," she grumbles.

"I think I have the right fucking to_—" she moves with her words, rounding the sofa and standing in front of Brittany—"_after you leave me in the fucking supermarket in front of thousands of judgmental couples, not knowing what the hell happened to my wife who just stormed out the damn store and made me look like the world's shittiest wife!"

"I hardly think it was thousands," Brittany retorts, glaring at her.

Santana squints. "Britt, that's _so _not the point."

"Well it seems that's the only thing you care about," the blonde replies, pushing up from the sofa and heading towards the kitchen.

"You know that's bullshit, B. You know how much I care about you but I don't know what the hell happened back there!" She follows her wife into the kitchen and stops by the counter, cocking her hip against the side and crossing her arms over her chest. "One minute we're fine and rushing to get home, and the next you're pinching me and storming out the damn store!"

"Because you were staring at another woman!" bursts from Brittany's mouth as she spins around, eyes wide and wild.

It goes silent and Santana would say something but she doesn't seem capable of forming any words. Her mouth drops and she begins moving it to see if anything comes out, but instead she just ends up looking like a gawping fish as she stares at her wife. All the anger seeps from her body and her arms drop by her side. She goes still as she processes the words, just staring.

"Wh-what?" comes out as a stutter and she tilts her head slightly, eyes squinting.

"You were staring at that blonde woman a few checkouts down," Brittany utters, her voice small but body even smaller as she twists and ducks her head.

Santana thinks back to earlier. Thinks back to the store and how she had to take her mind off what she and Brittany were planning on doing what they got home by staring at something else; which just happened to be a pregnant blonde woman. And she almost says that. Almost comes out with it but then she realizes what she would reveal and the words vanish from the tip of her tongue. So instead she has to settle with a different answer.

"I wasn't checking her out," she tells her wife. It's the truth after all.

"Yes, you were," Brittany says. "I saw you and I know it's unrealistic to think that you don't check out other women because you have me but you didn't have to do it in front of me. You didn't have to stare and get so caught up in it that I had to pinch you to break you from it."

Santana blinks as she listens to Brittany's voice, and how it gets angrier but weirdly softer the more she goes on. "No, Britt, I really wasn't checking her out."

"Stop lying," her blonde hisses and straightens up, her jaw clenching.

"I'm not lying!"

"You are!"

Anger pulsates through Santana and she shuts her eyes before she can say red. She doesn't know how she can defend herself without spilling the truth about why she was staring. And her mind's racing so hard to try and find another way out that it sort of just gives out and fizzles, like a computer does, but instead of shutting down and cutting out, the truth just pours out.

"I was staring at her because she was pregnant!" She grits out, opening her eyes and staring, infuriated at her wife. "I was fucking staring at her because I was imagining how incredible it would be for you to be having _my _baby, Britt."

Brittany's eyebrows shoot up and her body language changes complete. Relaxes, almost.

"I was thinking about how amazing it would be to look at you and your stomach and just know that there was a piece of us growing inside you," Santana's voice begins to lower and she takes a step towards her wife, fingers toying in front of her stomach. "I was thinking about how awesome it'd be to press my hands against your stomach and feel her, or him, and to know that we were starting a family."

Sudden realization flashes across the blondes face and she ducks her chin to her chest, her eyes flicking up every now almost nervously as silence settles around them. "You weren't checking her out then?"

"No, baby," Santana chuckles lightly, reaching forward to rest both hands on Brittany's hips. "You're the only woman I'm ever going to check out, and it's not unrealistic because I really do only have eyes for you."

Pink lips pinch up at the side to hide a smile and Santana knows she's broken the tense atmosphere around them. She shuffles forward, their feet bumping as she leans forward to press a kiss to Brittany's forehead, coaxing her into looking up. Once she does, and their eyes meet, Santana lifts an eyebrow and offers a questioning grin, her thumbs rubbing circles over the blondes hipbones.

"You want to start a family with me?"

Santana nods. "I do, Britt, and when_ I saw that woman, all I could imagine was me and you standing there, buying nappies and baby food and whatever the hell babies need," she smiles and Brittany giggles. "And it makes me want that moment to be now." _

Blue eyes widen and Brittany's face drops, fear flashing across her face.

_"__But I know we're not there yet," Santana continues before her wife can freak out." I mean, we've just got married, but I can't wait to have a baby with you." She bumps their noses together and stares deeply into blue eyes, feeling pale hands come up to rest on her collarbones. "It's everything I didn't want when I was with Sophie, but it's everything I want now I'm with you, and that just reinforces the idea that we're meant to be."_

Brittany bites down on her bottom lip and looks up through long lashes, blinking through a smile.

_"__I'm not saying we should have children now, Britt, and it probably won't be for a few years from now before we even consider it but—" she licks her lips and inhales deeply. "I want it, and I'm sorry if I'm freaking you out but I just want you to know that," she shrugs. "That I want to have babies with you someday. I want a family with you and only you."_

The smile on Brittany's face grows, but she tries to hide it by pressing her lips together. Doesn't work though, and Santana chuckles lightly as a pale hand comes up to twist through the ends of her dark hair, playing with it.

_"__Yeah?" Brittany whispers, asking for reassurance even though she obviously knows Santana's serious._

Santana squashes their noses together and leans forward, their lips brushing softly, barely. "Yeah, baby," she whispers into her wife's mouth a second before Brittany brings their mouths back together harder this time, her fingers winding through Santana's hair and tangling there, securing their faces and the kiss.

They kiss slow and deep, and Santana feels blood rush through her and down to her groin as she walks her wife backwards out the kitchen and through to the bedroom, giggling as she tries to kick off her shoes whilst kissing. Brittany pulls back and Santana groans as she has to pull away to look at her feet, and once the shoes are off, the blonde grabs a fistful of her shirt, spins her and pushes her down onto the bed, grinning as she shimmies out her skirt and strips herself of her top.

_"__How many?" Brittany asks, crawling up the bed and throwing a leg either side of Santana's hips to straddle her._

Santana grins and rests her hands on bare thighs, stroking the soft skin beneath her palms. "As many as you want."

Brittany falls forward, holding herself up with both hands either side of dark hair, her own blonde hair falling down around them. "Really?" She asks, smiling and leaning down to suck at Santana's top lip, fingers raking through Santana's hair as the kiss deepens.

_"__Mmhmm," Santana hums into her wife's mouth arousal shooting through her as her hands move to glide up and over Brittany's ribs, but a pout crosses her face as the blonde breaks the kiss and pulls back a little. "What?"_

_"__We could totally have loads of them and become the modern day von Trapp family."_

Santana giggles and shakes her head, one hand pushing back Brittany's hair. "I'll teach them to sing and you can teach them to dance," she says, knowing she's indulging Brittany and rolling her eyes at herself because of it. Honestly, though, she wouldn't even mind if what she were saying was true.

Brittany stares down at her, her expression lighting up with happiness. "Awesome," she breathes.

_Santana doesn't really know where this leaves them but Brittany's already bringing their mouths back together and all thoughts of babies and the future shoot out her mind for the rest of the night._

* * *

**So what did you think?**


	2. Everything I Need

**Title: **Everything I Need (1/3)**  
Rating: **NC-17  
**Word Count: **4.8k**  
Summary: **Even now, three months after their wedding, Santana can't believe that she gets to call Brittany her wife.**  
Notes: **Born from a prompt from an anonymous source!

* * *

Even now, three months after their wedding, Santana can't believe that she gets to call Brittany her wife.

Her freaking _wife. _

She shakes her head at herself, chuckling beneath her breath and ducking her chin to her chest. She's never going to stop having butterflies at the thought.

She's here at Quinn and Rachel's engagement party, sitting on the armchair in the corner of their living room just watching her _wife _chat to several people, throwing her head back like a little kid when she laughs and scrunching up her nose when she finds something cute. She helps Rachel when the brunette breezes past looking a little more than stressed, and Brittany even brings a smile to Rachel's face as she takes the tray from the shorter girls hands, gliding into the kitchen to grab a few more champagne flutes.

It's incredible, it really is. To know that someone as perfect and wonderful as Brittany is Santana's.

She still has no idea how she got so lucky.

Bringing the bottle of beer in her left hand to her lips, she takes a long pull and rests her head back against the cushion, eyes closing.

It's been five months since Quinn released her album, and it's stayed in the charts for all that time, too. The seven weeks following its release it managed to stay at number one, which was so unlikely for such a new artist but it wasn't like she or Quinn were going to complain.

That lead to several celebratory parties of course, and then somehow that developed into many drunken conversations with Quinn about the future between her and Rachel. Being drunk, Santana just listened and offered a few kind words here and there―she's found herself actually liking Rachel Berry. Shit, that's even weird to think―and after one particular conversation, apparently her words had planted a seed in Quinn's mind that grew over the months and four and a half of them later, the blonde was getting down on one knee and asking Rachel to be hers forever in front of an entire restaurant, and Santana and Brittany.

It wasn't exactly surprising to Santana―Rachel for her part looked like someone had given her a million dollars―and when Rachel accepted and after they kissed in front of everyone for an uncomfortable amount of time, Quinn threw herself into Santana's arms and thanked her for how much she'd helped with the decision.

Santana didn't even know she had helped, but it was totally worth nodding along anyway and receiving that soft smile from her wife that always made her insides melt. And, you know, the kiss and sighed _I love you_ into her mouth that followed the smile was pretty awesome, too.

Anyway, getting back to the point, these last few months have been incredible. She and Brittany got married, Rachel and Quinn are heading down that route too, and she and Quinn are already planning a second album which means work is just going amazingly.

Honestly? Things couldn't be better.

"Hey, good lookin'. Wanna drink?"

Santana opens her eyes to find her wife standing in front of her, staring down with clear, blue eyes, a grin and so much adoration that Santana actually sighs. Like, legitimately lets out a sigh because _fuck, _she's so in love with this girl it's ridiculous. She stares at her wife for a long moment, taking in the short, black dress covering her body in all the right places, but keeping enough of her covered up that Santana doesn't have to kick some ass, and then once her trail is done, her eyes land on the tray balanced on top of long, slender fingers, containing a few empty glasses.

She tilts her head to the side, a smirk playing at her lips. "Depends on what you're offering, beautiful."

Brittany chuckles, light and soft, hand coming up to rest on her cocked hip. "You tryin' to sweet talk me, honey?" She asks in a drawn out Southern accent. "I know for a fact that you're married."

"I am, aren't I?" Santana slides her beer onto table beside her and shifts towards the edge of her seat, her palms skimming up the side of Brittany's thighs, feeling goosebumps form where her fingertips slide over sun-kissed legs. Their honeymoon in Hawaii was pretty damn awesome. "But it's a shame 'cause you're just _so_ damn gorgeous," she purrs, slowly pushing to her feet, hands slipping round and over the curve of Brittany's ass until they stop at her hips, their faces now level. "So how about some sugar for the road instead?"

Blue eyes roll but Brittany leans in, and Santana's eyes flutter shut as soon as there's the soft pressure of lips against her own. It's gone barely a second later and she frowns, opening her eyes to see her wife's teasing grin and shakes her head before tugging Brittany back in with the hand she has on her hip, their mouths coming back together, a little harder this time. Instinctively her mouth opens against Brittany's and it's so soft and warm, and she sighs into it, her other hand coming up to linger along the hinge of her wife's jaw as Brittany's spare hand winds around her neck and tugs lightly, deepening the kiss.

They kiss like that, lazy and slow, for a few moments, grinning against each others mouths when it dies down to pecks and Brittany pulls back first, pressing one last kiss against Santana's swollen lips. Santana blinks up at her wife dazed as the blonde smiles down at her.

"My girl's got skills," Santana chuckles, eying the tray still perfectly balanced in her wife's hand She knows for a fact if she was holding the tray that thing would be on the floor by now.

Brittany kisses her nose and smiles. "Your girl has gotta go hand out some drinks," she says. "So stop distracting me."

"You're the one that came over here," Santana points out then wiggles her hips into her wife's. "And I can't help it that I'm so irresistible you can't stay away from me."

"Shut up you," the blonde grins back, grabbing her chin and pressing one final sloppy kiss to her mouth. "And you just wait till we get home and then I'll show you just how irresistible you are to me," she purrs and Santana's thighs squeeze together.

Getting a boner in the middle of someone elses engagement party probably wouldn't be the most appropriate thing ever but hell, how can she not when Brittany says something like that and then walks away with an extra sway in her step and pushing out her ass when she looks back to wink? _Damn. _She totally has the hottest and sexiest wife _ever._

So to hide the growing bulge, she sits back down, picks her beer back up and takes a long pull. Her eyes stay trained on Brittany the entire time.

* * *

"Oh_, fuck_, San―"

Santana smirks against the skin of Brittany's neck, running her tongue up the length of it before grazing her teeth over her pulse point. The hands in her hair tug and then they're kissing, her hips pinning her wife to the door as a tongue delves into her mouth, stroking over her own and making her forget her own name.

It's pretty lucky they even made it inside their apartment, actually. The entire walk back here was full of brushing hands, bumping hips and small smirks and by the time they stumbled up their stoop, they were already all over each other, Santana with her hands on Brittany's ass and their mouths fused together whilst a pale hand reached between them to unbuckle her belt.

But they did make it, luckily―only luckily because one of their neighbors found them in the shared basement one time with Santana's pants round her ankles and Brittany's legs around her waist and they were almost kicked out the building―and so now they're here, panting into each others mouth, tearing off each others clothes and bumping into pretty much everything as they move further into the apartment.

Seriously, it's like they haven't had sex in a week instead of a day.

Then again, she supposes a day without sex is like a week in their terms. They have a more than healthy sex life.

"Take it off," Brittany groans when tanned fingers tease with the zip on her dress.

Arousal shoots through Santana and she's does as she's told, quickly ridding her wife of her dress and standing back when it drops to pool around her feet. Brown eyes rake down her body and take in the sight and it makes her press up painfully tight against the inside of her jeans. She doesn't have time to dwell on that though 'cause a hand is suddenly warm against her cheek and lips are covering her own, a tongue slipping into her mouth once more.

She leans forward, hands finding purchase on Brittany's hips and walks them back into the living room, tipping them over the side of the sofa until her wife's lying on her back and she's lying between long legs, kicking her jeans off her feet and rocking her hips in the right place, enjoying the low aroused hiss that comes from Brittany as her clothed bulge presses against her covered center.

"You're so fucking hot," she moans, breaking the kiss and trailing them down the slope of a pale neck, sucking lightly whilst her hand traces down Brittany's ribs and fingers hook into her panties. She tugs them down at the same time she sucks in a nipple, flicking her tongue over the tip and enjoying the way Brittany's hips buck up, suddenly thankful for the lack of bra tonight.

Not wanting to waste any time, once Brittany's kicked off her panties, Santana lets her hand glide back up between their bodies and instantly begins to toy with the moisture between Brittany's legs, the pads of her fingertips rolling over her wife's clit expertly. Brittany groans and tugs her head back up, their lips coming back together in an almost bruising kiss that makes Santana's hips grind down impatiently.

"I need you," Brittany mumbles against her mouth, teeth nipping gently at her lip.

Santana doesn't argue, just pushes her boxers down and releases her throbbing erection, replacing her fingers with the tip of her cock and pushing down until blue eyes roll into the back of Brittany's head. Heat spreads across her skin and she moves her lips back down to a pink nipple, sucking lightly as she grabs herself and rubs through Brittany's folds, earning a few groans that makes her smile against her wife's breast. Even after all this time, it still shocks her how quickly Brittany can get ready for her. How hot they can get for each other in such a short amount of time.

She hopes it'll always be like this.

But then it's down to the real business and she pulls her head back, leaning up on one elbow and glancing down between them enough to see as she lowers her hips down and nudges Brittany's entrance with her cock, before pushing the head inside and dropping her forehead to the other girls breast bone at the warmth that surrounds her. Brittany's always so fucking tight and she doesn't think she'll ever tire of being inside her.

"Santana..." Brittany grunts and Santana smirks, pressing a kiss to pale cleavage before lifting up to stare her wife in the eye as she slides in completely, mesmerized by how Brittany's mouth drops open, the crinkle forms between her brows and her neck muscles strain for a long moment before settling back and relaxing.

She keeps her hips still for a second, enjoying the wet heat and tightness covering the entire length of her shaft and leans down to kiss Brittany slowly as she moves at the same pace. Her tongue dips into Brittany's mouth and Santana shifts, realizing she still has her shirt on but not really caring now that she's inside Brittany. Her hips pull back until she's sliding out halfway, then she pushes back in gently, wanting to go slowly and give her wife as much pleasure as possible.

Except it seems Brittany has a different idea about the shirt thing because her hands come up to her back, clawing at the fabric and frowning, but not quite managing a full frown as her eyes are clouding with pleasure and arousal. Santana chuckles and buries herself in deep, earning a squeak from the other girl as she pauses to let the blonde take her shirt off, chucking it somewhere in the living room.

"Better?" She asks, but Brittany responds by rolling her hips and Santana buckles as Brittany clenches around her simultaneously. And _fuck, _she's not sure how long she can contain herself for.

She presses their lips back together and begins to grind her hips, one hand coming up to tangle in Brittany's hair as the other clutches to a slim waist to control her pelvis' movements. She tries to go slow, she really does, but it doesn't work and it just feels too good and so she pulls back and begins to rock faster and faster into her wife, picking up the pace so much she can't keep their lips together and instead settles for breathing into each other, foreheads pressed together.

It comes quicker than she thought and she knows she's only a few more rocks into coming and slides the hand on Brittany's waist between them, fingers finding Brittany's clit and moving over it in small circles. Brittany's hips buck into hers and pale hands slide down her back, nails biting into her skin as she quickens her thrusts and pushes deeply into her wife, eyes opening to find flushed cheeks, swollen lips, closed eyes and an open mouth and ears perking to the sound of appreciative guttural moans.

It's so hot and it always manages to get to Santana in such a way that with that image and one final thrust, she's pushed over the edge. She spills into Brittany, burying herself as far as she can go as her orgasm punches through her but then her wife grinds into her at the same time she thrusts out and in again, fingers rapidly moving, and then Brittany's clenching abruptly around her, coming and screaming her name, prolonging Santana's own orgasm.

"Fuck, Britt―"

"Santana!" Brittany half-yells, eyes clenching shut as her orgasm crashes over her and Santana can feel sparks setting off inside her body as pleasure rockets through her.

They ride their orgasms together until they're fading and parts of their bodies are twitching from the aftermath, and Santana just collapses against her wife, cheek pressing to the pale skin of Brittany's breastbone. Their breathes are heavy and irregular, and Santana licks her lips, eying the light sheen of sweat coating Brittany's skin and chuckles into it, finding the strength to pull back up, hands coming up to either side of splayed out blonde hair and kisses her softly.

"I love you," she mumbles, wetting her lips as she backs out the kiss. "Like, a lot."

Brittany's hand comes up to brush the hair stuck to her forehead away. She smiles softly and her blue eyes are slowly closing, and Santana can't help but laugh. Brittany always needs a nap after a powerful orgasm. It's one of the most adorable things about her.

"I love you too, baby," the blonde mutters, yawning.

Santana nuzzles their noses together, grinning, before sitting back on her knees, slowly sliding out of Brittany―body sizzling at the sound of her wife whimpering at the loss―and she gazes at the juices covering her cock. Arousal spirals through her again but she's still worn out and her body needs some time to recover, and so she slowly shifts off the sofa, standing beside Brittany and picking her up, bridal style, to carry back to the bedroom.

Arms clutch tightly around her neck and she kisses Brittany's sweaty forehead softly as they move into their bedroom, Santana stopping at her wife's side of the bed and setting her down before rounding and sliding onto her side, wiggling forward to move into the position of the big spoon. Her left arm winds around Brittany's waist and her hips fit into the curve of the blonde's wife, nose squashing against a pale shoulder blade and inhaling coconut and almost body wash, sighing at the fluttering inside of her.

But then, as always, Brittany turns over and shuffles forward, burying her head into the crook of Santana's neck, one arm coming between their body to rest by the pillow as the other absently toys with the ends of dark locks as she falls asleep.

Santana settles for resting her chin on top of her wife's head and closes her eyes, slowly drifting off to the sound of Brittany breathing.

* * *

Santana wakes up the next morning to the shrill sound of her alarm clock, and she seriously wishes she didn't have to get up when she blindly slaps her hand around to turn it off and glances down. Because Brittany's lying against her side, nose pressed to the underside of her jaw with an arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and she's naked too and just _ugh_, Santana _really _doesn't want to leave.

But she has to. She's got a recording session in the studio with Quinn for one of the blondes new songs and if they're lucky, they might be able to get it over and done with within a few hours so she can leave early. Assuming there's no major problems or anything.

So reluctantly she untangles herself from her wife, kisses her on the forehead and climbs out of bed, scowling to herself as she heads towards the bathroom.

The next day off she and Brittany have together is so going to be spent in bed together.

* * *

Quinn's equally as grumpy as she is when she arrives at the studio, two extra large coffees in her hand and the last bite of croissant hanging out the side of her mouth. Her friend scoffs at her as she walks in the door, kicks it open with her foot and slides in quickly to ensure it doesn't catch her on the back swing, and in response she throws Quinn an angered look.

"Well that's attractive," Quinn says, sarcasm seeping into her tone. "I can see how you're married."

"Shut up, Fabray or I'll pour these scalding hot coffees over your head and burn your pretty little face. Let's see if you're still getting married then."

Quinn crinkles her face, leaning against the control panel. "Off point today, Lopez? That comeback was kind of crappy."

Santana scowls. "Give me an hour."

"Whatever," her friend says, grabbing the coffee when she's close enough and peeling off the lid to let the steam free. "So what we doing today?"

"Your stupid song," Santana grunts, placing her coffee down and swallowing her mouthful. She shrugs off her jacket and throws it over the back of the chair in front of the MIDI, slumping down onto the seat a second later and seeing Quinn's confusion. "The one about swimming or whatever."

"Swim Good," Quinn corrects, taking a sip of her coffee before setting it down and slipping through the door to take her on the stool and behind the microphone. Santana rolls her eyes and shuffles forward in her chair, adjusting the settings for a few moments then holding down the speaker button so her friend can hear her.

"Okay, you're good to go in three, two," she mouths one and the instruments begin to play and Quinn's head bobs to the beat.

Santana leans back in her chair, grabs her coffee cup and brings it to her lips, mind lost in the music.

* * *

Thirty four tries later and Quinn's not fucking happy with how she sounds.

"It's just a bit… I don't know, low?"

Santana lets her back bow forward, forehead pressing to the table top not covered by the MIDI. "Fuck, Q, just record the damn thing how you want to." It's muffled into the wood but she knows her friend heard her.

"You're my manager," the blonde replies, poking her in the ribs so she jolts up, shocked. That's her weak spot and Quinn knows that it scares the crap out of her when people poke her there. Bitch. "Fucking act like one."

"I'm just tired. I had a late night."

"I did, too. Had a party, remember?"

Santana sits back in her chair but there's a smirk playing at her lips as she stares at her friend. "Yeah, Q, except after cleaning up you went to sleep and I was a little busier," she says suggestively, but Quinn squints, not quite getting it. "I was having sex, Quinn," she elaborates.

"Oh." Fair eyebrows raise, and Quinn nods, but suddenly her face contorts with disgust. "Okay, no, didn't wanna know that."

"Just 'cause I'm getting more than you are," Santana retorts, still smirking. "But getting back to the work," she sits forward and switches into business mode. "Can we just pick this up tomorrow? I'm tired and you haven't even made up your damn mind about the tempo or pitch yet."

Quinn shakes her head. "You're whining like a little bitch, Santana." Santana's eyes widen at the insult. "But fine. I could do with getting back to Rach early."

"Swear to God if you say anything about getting down with the hobbit I will rip your shit in half."

Her friend chuckles and reaches inside the microphone room to flick off the light. "Whatever, let's bounce."

Santana side eyes her friend. "Let's bounce? Q, you ain't black."

"Neither are you yet you still act all ghetto and crap," Quinn shrugs as they both head out the recording studio, switching off the lights and machines as they leave.

"I'm blacker and more ghetto than you."

"Whatever, Santana. Whatever."

* * *

She calls Brittany on the way home, telling her she'll pick up some dinner on the way home and Brittany tells her she has a surprise waiting for her.

That brightens Santana's mood immediately and she almost skips picking up some Chinese in favor of heading home and finding out what the hell the surprise is, but the grumble in her stomach makes that urge sink and she heads over to Mr Chow's and orders the usual for her and Brittany.

But then when she gets home and opens the door, she finds Brittany sitting on the dining table, wearing a purple, silk robe and from what she can see, pretty much nothing else and there's a smirk on the blondes face that widens the more she toys with the tie wrapped around her waist.

Santana's mouth immediately drops and she shuts the door behind her, kicking off her shoes. "Uh, hey. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Brittany purrs, her voice dropping into that low, sexy tone that shoots straight to Santana's groin. She picks up a remote by her thigh and points it over her shoulder, clicking it and putting it down as the sound of Marvin Gaye's voice flow into the room. "I just missed you."

Santana can already feel herself pressing up against the zip on her jeans but she just stares, stares as her wife slides down from the table and walks towards her, legs gliding in and out with a dancers grace whilst her hands slowly untie the knot at the front of the robe. The fabric drops open and Santana almost passes out then and there because her thoughts are confirmed and Brittany's wearing absolutely _nothing _beneath the robe.

"Did you miss me, too?" Brittany whispers, biting on her bottom lip and glancing up through her eyelashes.

Santana gulps and doesn't even hesitate in dropping the take out bag in her hand and pressing their lips together, walking them back towards the dining table to lift her wife onto it and step between her legs.

The food can fucking wait.

* * *

She's at the studio bright and early the next morning, and Quinn comes stumbling in with her blonde hair all over the place and eyes half-shut and clouded with fatigue. Santana chuckles and throws Quinn the energy bar she was about to eat, laughing to herself.

Her friend shoots her a death glare as she catches the snack. "What's this?"

"Looks like you need it more than I do. You look like shit," Santana shrugs, twisting in her chair to adjust the settings on the MIDI. "Now come on, eat that, drink this," she blindly grabs a cup of coffee she bought from the cart down the road and holds it out, Quinn snatching it roughly. "Apologize for snatching and then get in there. I don't wanna be here for weeks."

The blonde scowls but glugs down her coffee and then shuffles into the microphone room to begin.

* * *

Later that night when she gets home, Brittany's already in bed and she slides in behind her after changing, pressing against her back and dusting a kiss across the bare skin of her shoulder.

She's about to nod off to sleep when her wife stirs and turns over, and begins to trail a line of wet kisses up her neck, hand drifting down her boxers to grab and stroke at her more than willing member.

"B," she whispers, pushing up into the wandering hand with her hips. As much as she'd like to get it on right now she's sure Brittany was asleep and she doesn't want her wife falling asleep mid-sex. That'd just be embarrassing. "Aren't you too tired?"

Brittany pulls back, eyes dark and hooded but hand never straying from its motions. "Are you?"

Santana shakes her head, groaning lowly as she gets to full length.

"Then me neither," her wife says and presses their lips back together, tongue delving into Santana's mouth as her thumb rubs over the tip of her cock.

Santana doesn't complain.

* * *

The second week comes and each day and night goes exactly the same way.

On one particular night after Santana comes home, they start snuggling on the couch and manage to last ten minutes before hands start wandering and lips start searching and soon enough Santana's laying on her back and Brittany's riding her, spilling the syllables of her name from her lips as Santana thrusts up and presses against _that _spot.

They make it to the bedroom at some point and after another round or two, Santana leans over Brittany and glances at the clock, collapsing back onto the bed and groaning when she finds the time. She really needs to get more sleep. She's got to be up and out and in the studio in four hours and they didn't even eat the damn dinner she bought because they got into the bedroom four hours ago and never left, which means she's got to leave enough time for breakfast, too.

_Fuck_.

Brittany giggles beside her and she rolls until she's facing her wife, their noses, chins and foreheads pressing together.

"Maybe you should just get the day off tomorrow," the blonde says, kissing her softly. "Just stay in bed with me."

"I wish," Santana mumbles against her mouth. "But Q's already freaked about the song so I gotta keep supporting her."

Brittany nods but runs her thumb over the tanned skin of a collarbone. "I know but, you're gone for so long and I just miss you."

"You have work, baby. You're out most of the day."

"I miss you at work, too, but I'm talking about nighttime," Brittany pouts. "I come home and you're not here and it sucks."

She presses her lips together in a tight line, sadness seeping through her chest. It's only been two weeks but she didn't realize Brittany missed her that much. She's really got to find a balance between work and home. Too many times has she known people to get divorced because of an imbalance and that sure as hell isn't going to happen to her and Brittany. Not if she can stop it.

"Okay, baby, how about this?" She gazes into blue eyes and runs her thumb over her wife's bottom lip, thinking of her idea. "Next day we both have off, we spend the entire day together. In bed or out or doing whatever we wanna do, okay?"

Brittany grins like it's the best thing she's heard in years and Santana sighs into the kiss she receives, rolling over and laughing against her wife's mouth as she grows against the inside of Brittany's thigh again.

* * *

**Part 2 coming soon...**

**Meanwhile, please feel free to drop a comment on your thoughts so far (:**


	3. Consequences

**Title: **Consequences (2/3)  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Word Count: **4.7k  
**Summary: **"For better or for worse, babe," she repeats, letting the memories of their wedding vows wash through her.

**Notes: **Part 2 is here and thank you for all your comments! you guys are awesome :)

* * *

Quinn still can't fucking decide on pretty much anything and by the third week it goes as far as the blonde freaking out about whether this song is actually worth recording, and whether it's actually any good, and it takes Santana half a bottle of Jack and a good three hours of talking to calm her friend down.

See, she is a pretty kick ass manager.

By the fourth week, Quinn nails the song and they get through an entire session without any minor break downs or frets about the song, and by the end of the six hour session, the song's finished. Sure, if they want to complete the album then they've got to do this like, ten or eleven times over, but the main single is done and dusted, and all Santana wants to do is celebrate.

"You, me, your hobbit and Britt for drinks down at Benji's tonight," Santana tells Quinn instead of asking her. "We're gonna celebrate by drinking way too much and dancing until we're sweaty."

The blonde rolls her eyes at the "your hobbit" comment but ignores it and nods at her. "I'm down for it. I'll call Rach now."

"And I'll call Britt."

They both pick up their phones and Quinn slips into the microphone room, shutting the door behind her whilst Santana stays behind the MIDI, flicking the speaker button of so she can't hear what her friend's saying on the phone. Thank God for that, Santana doesn't feel like puking over nauseating number one gushing to nauseating number two.

Anyway, she finds Brittany's name in her favorites―it's not exactly hard as it's the only one in the list―and clicks it, bringing the phone to her ear as she waits out the dial tone.

_"Bonjour caliente... épouse."_

Santana blinks and lets out a chuckle. "Really, B? French and Spanish in the same sentence?"

_"Oh, crap. Are they different languages?"_

"Yeah, baby. But hola hermosa esposa."

_"You've got your lovey tone on so I'm going to assume you said something good," _Brittany replies cheerily. _"So, hey baby. What's up?"_

Santana leans back in the chair. "You up for a night out? Quinn's four week long recording session has finally come to and end which not only means I get my day off with you tomorrow, but it also means we're going out tonight to celebrate."

_"Oh, yeah! I haven't been dancing in ages." _Brittany's voice is jolting a little and Santana can totally imagine her wife bouncing up and down in excitement. _"Where are we going?"_

"B, you can't say you haven't been dancing in ages. You dance for a living."

"_It's totally not the same thing."_

Santana rolls her eyes but chuckles, thumbing a crease in her jeans. "We're going to Benji's. That cool?"

"_Awesome. When will you be home?"_

After all this time, it still makes her smile when she thinks of 'home.' Where her wife is. Where her life is based. All with Brittany. "In a few hours, babe. I'll see you later."

"_Okay. Love you."_

"Love you, too."

* * *

She gets home a few hours later and makes a beeline for the bedroom considering she's got two hours to get ready and she still needs to shower and wash her hair. The journey is quickly stopped when out the corner of her eye she finds Brittany lying on the couch, curled up with a hot water bottle pressed to her stomach.

"Britt?" She calls, making her way over there. "What's wrong, baby?"

As she rounds the sofa she sees that Brittany's eyes are squeezed shut, her entire face scrunched and Santana can tell she's in pain. She runs a hand over her forehead but doesn't feel any heat.

"Are you sick?"

Slowly, Brittany opens her eyes but winces and curls up into the fetal position. "Cramps," she gets out. "They were real bad earlier but now I'm just waiting them out."

"Aw, babe," Santana pouts and kneels by the sofa, running one hand down to press on top of the hot water bottle gently. "Do you want me to get you some Midol?"

Brittany nods but whimpers half-way through and Santana leans forward to kiss her wife's temple before making her way to the kitchen. She returns five minutes later with a glass of water and two pills and sees Brittany sitting up, the hot water bottle still pressed low on her belly. She hands over the items and takes a seat beside her wife, one hand going to her thigh and her lips pressing to the bare skin of a pale shoulder as Brittany takes the pills and takes a long sip of the water.

"How long do they take to work?"

Santana lifts a shoulder. She didn't read the packet but usually all painkillers are the same right? "Like, half an hour, I think?"

Brittany nods and curls up beside Santana, legs folding beneath her and forehead pressed into the crook of a tanned neck. Santana leans back against the sofa, wrapping one arm around her wife and settles down, waiting out the cramps. "We don't have to go tonight if you're not feeling well, Britt."

"I know," the blonde says, kissing tanned skin. "But I want to and I know you won't go without me." Santana smiles. "We haven't gone out with Rachel and Quinn in so long and I was looking forward to it."

"Yeah, but if you're not feeling well then―"

"They're just cramps," Brittany cuts in, pulling back to look into brown eyes. "They'll go. Seriously, honey. It's fine," she smiles but Santana can tell she's still in a little bit of pain.

And Santana hates it, but knows there's nothing she can do and so kissing Brittany's nose, she leans back again and they wait half an hour before Brittany says the pains have gone and they start getting ready.

* * *

"You two are late," Rachel shouts when Santana and Brittany climb out the cab and Santana hands the driver a twenty, telling him to keep the change. "And not fashionably so, either."

Santana rolls her eyes and turns around, arm slipping around her wife's waist. "Shut your trap, short stuff. Britt wasn't feeling well."

Rachel's face softens immediately and she turns to said blonde, ignoring the insult. "Oh, I apologize. Are you feeling alright now, Brittany?"

"Yes, thank you," Brittany nods at her and shuffles closer to Santana.

And only Santana sees the way her wife's hand press gently against her stomach. The cramps haven't gone. They shouldn't have come out. But she doesn't have time to lean over and whisper that into Brittany's ear because Quinn's being let out of Benji's through the red rope near the bouncer and waving them over.

"Hey, guys," she greets and kisses them both on the cheek. "I managed to get us a booth."

Rachel grins at her fiancee and twists their arms together. "You are so amazing, Quinn."

Bile rises in the back of Santana's throat and she almost makes a scathing remark about how nauseating they are but realizes that they're actually kind of cute in a weird way, and all the time Rachel's staring at Quinn, she isn't annoying the crap out of Santana so it's a win-win situation really.

"Awesome, so let's go in?" Brittany suggests and Santana looks at her, furrowing her brow for a second but then Brittany's kissing her quickly and the worry fades away as she's tugged into the bar.

* * *

As soon as they get in there, Brittany goes to pee with Rachel and leaves Quinn and Santana to get the drinks. They order the usual, some pink cocktail for Rachel, a Perfect Ten for Brittany―as always―and beers for them, and they head over to the booth where a guy in an all-black suit asks for their names and guides them to the correct one.

It's pretty cool; there's neon lights beneath the circular booth seats and at least nine people could fit in here, but that just means there's more room for Santana and Brittany to shuffle away from Quinn and Rachel when they get so drunk they lose all personal awareness and start dry humping inside the booth.

They slide into the seats, putting the drinks in front of them and lean back to relax, waiting for their better halves to come back from the toilet.

"What was wrong with Britt?"

Santana reaches for her beer. "Just cramps."

"Oh," Quinn's face twitches a little like she's uncomfortable. It's not like Santana doesn't know about periods. "Did she have some Midol?"

"Yeah, but I think she's still a little off. She wanted to come out tonight though, so I couldn't stop her."

Her friend takes a swig of beer and she does the same, bobbing her head to the music playing overhead. "She'll be fine in a few hours. And if not you guys can go home. It's not like this is a proper celebration."

Santana shrugs. "It took four weeks to do this, Q. I think that's worth of a drink," she holds up her beer and chuckles when Quinn clinks hers against it.

A few minutes later, Brittany and Rachel come sliding in and they take their seats beside their girls, Brittany squeezing Santana's thigh and kissing her cheek as she picks up her drink and takes a sip. They all chatter for a moment, talking about the next songs they need to record and how long they'll take, Santana taking the piss out of Quinn because it's likely to be next November by the time they finish another few songs, but then she catches the way Brittany's scrunching her nose up at her drink in disapproval.

She ignores it at first, carrying on talking to Quinn and Rachel because she's always paranoid that something's wrong with her wife, but then somehow the conversation slides to the nauseating duo and Santana takes this opportunity to lean into Brittany's ear.

"What's wrong?"

Brittany shakes her head and licks her lips, but she's still scrunching her nose. "Try this," she says, offering out the drink. "Does it taste weird?"

Santana eyes the drink warily, quirking a brow before leaning forward and taking a sip. She's never liked the drink but from what she can tell it tastes like normal. "No, babe. Seems fine to me. You want me to go get you another?"

"No, it's fine, thank you. I'm gonna go dance though. Dance with me?"

She doesn't have to ask twice before Santana's grinning and she's being tugged out the booth and lead through the dance floor, Brittany turning and looping her arms around a tanned neck as their bodies come together, hips fitting together perfectly. They dance and dance, and Brittany begins to smile and grind back up against her so she can't feel that ill.

Still doesn't completely settle Santana's concern, though.

* * *

A little while later when they're considerably worked up and hot, Santana trying to think of the least sexiest things in the world to stop the pressure in her groin region, they head back to the booth and find Quinn with her tongue stuck down Rachel's throat, hand grabbing her thigh and sliding up dangerously high.

"Okay, guys, seriously," Santana waves her hand towards them. "I wanted to celebrate not test my upchuck reflex."

It doesn't deter them though. They're probably been caught making out millions of times by Santana and it's actually getting pretty hard to come up with an insult, hence the weakness of her last one, and so she just slides into the booth again as far away from the tongue twins in the corner as physically possible, pulling Brittany onto her lap and staring up at her in complete awe. She's had a few beers and there's a comfortable lightness in her head, and Brittany just looks really fucking gorgeous right now. And it's not even the beer goggles. Brittany's just gorgeous in general.

"I love you," she tells Brittany, wrapping one arm around her lower back and draping the other across the bare skin of her thighs, right below where her dress is riding up.

Brittany giggles and kisses her temple. "I love you, too. Do you want a drink?"

Santana shakes her head. "I want you," she replies, smirking and leaning up to kiss her wife. It's slow and lazy, their tongues dipping in and out at a leisurely pace, long fingers sliding into dark hair and tanned ones thumbing the hem of Brittany's dress, resisting the urge to slip beneath it and Santana moans into her wife's mouth when Brittany nips on her bottom lip and pulls away. Okay, that totally didn't help with the whole groin region thing.

"I gotta pee," Brittany says abruptly, hopping off Santana's lap.

"You've been like six times, already."

Brittany shrugs. "I drank a lot of water today," she replies and disappears into the crowd.

Santana just sits back and chews on the inside of her cheek. What's wrong with Brittany?

* * *

After Brittany comes back from her ninth visit to the toilet, Santana's more than concerned, and Brittany's looking a little peaky to say the least. As soon as she had disappeared to the loo, Santana headed up to the bar to grab a bottle of water since Brittany refused to touch another alcoholic drink, saying she was feeling a little queasy. So when Brittany comes back, Santana unscrews it and hands it to her, rubbing her lower back gently and trying not to focus on the unnatural paleness tinting her wife's skin.

Except it doesn't work and it's only a minute of watching later that she says something.

"You're not well," she states.

Brittany doesn't even argue and nods weakly. "I don't think so," she admits. "Can we go home now?"

Santana doesn't hesitate in turning around and snapping her fingers between Quinn and Rachel's faces, breaking them apart and finding dazed hazel eyes staring at her. "We're going home. Britt doesn't feel well."

"Is she okay?" Quinn asks, but she doesn't look too invested in the conversation seeing as Rachel's now trailing a line of wet, opened mouthed kisses down her throat. "Do you want us to come with?"

"Definitely not," Santana retorts, pulling a disgusted expression when she sees Rachel's tongue poke out and lick up the side of her friend's neck. Gross. "Britt already doesn't feel well and she doesn't need you two making her feel worse with your revolting display of affection."

"Whatever."

She shakes her head but urges Brittany out the booth as her wife taps on Rachel and Quinn's shoulders and says goodbye to them, not leaning in to give them a kiss for two obvious reasons. Then they get up, Santana sliding her fingers through Brittany's and leads them out of the club and into a cab waiting by the side walk.

* * *

When they get home, Santana fetches some painkillers and a few bottles of water and they both head straight to bed, changing and slipping beneath the covers after Santana sets down the items on her wife's bedside table. They snuggle together, and Santana lies on her back, tracing patterns up and down the length of Brittany's arm as she stares at the ceiling, listening to the steady breathing beating against her neck.

Somewhere along the line she drifts off to sleep, and it's a while later that she's woken up to the sound of retching and vomiting. She rubs the ache from her eyes and climbs out of bed, padding along the hardwood floor towards the bathroom where she finds Brittany hunched over the bowl, one hand clutching her hair back whilst the other clamps onto the toilet bowl. She instantly helps her, taking over the hold on blonde hair and rubbing her back soothingly as Brittany continues to throw up into the toilet.

She stays silent, knowing that when she's thrown up in the past if anyone tried to talk to her she'd kick them out the bathroom, and just lets Brittany know she's there. It's only when Brittany finishes and rests her temple against the toilet bowl to stare at Santana that she says anything.

"I'll go get you some water," she whispers and Brittany groans before twisting back to throw up again.

Barely thirty seconds later and she's returned, setting the glass down and reaching for a towel to dab at Brittany's forehead. She sits down cross legged, and returns to rubbing her wife's back and pouts when a whimper comes from the blonde, at the same time she slumps down to the floor.

"I think you've got a bug, baby," she murmurs and Brittany's bottom lip quivers. Ever since they were kids Brittany's hated being ill. She's usually the most energetic person in the entire world and when she's ill, all that energy just drains straight out of her. "Do you wanna go to the doctors tomorrow?"

Brittany can't respond because she's too busy retching and clapping a hand over her mouth as she rises back to her knees to vomit, and Santana just feels so helpless but stays by her side and does everything she can.

Even though it's not a lot.

* * *

It gets to 4am and Brittany's stopped throwing up, but she's so worn out that she refuses to move from the bathroom and so Santana kisses her forehead and tells her she'll be right back. She heads into the bedroom, grabs two pillows and a blanket and walks back to the bathroom, propping one pillow against the wall and sitting down, back resting against it and legs stretched out in front of her, and the other pillows lies across her lap.

Reaching for Brittany, she softly tugs her over until her blonde head of hair is splayed across the pillow and then throws the blanket over her wife, not caring that it's not big enough for both of them or that she'll get cold and starts to rake her fingers through Brittany's hair, gently.

This sucks. Seriously. Tomorrow is their day off as well and now they won't be able to go out or do anything because Brittany's sick. And it's not like that's the only thing bumming Santana out because it's not. She hates when Brittany's ill. If there was any way she could get the virus instead of Brittany she totally would. She hates seeing Brittany suffer.

Maybe she should book an emergency doctor's appointment for her wife.

"Santana?"

Santana snaps her head down to see sleepy, blue eyes blinking up at her. "Yeah, B?" She whispers, using her free hand to cup a too-pale cheek.

"Thank you," Brittany croaks and Santana laughs, shaking her head. Sometimes her wife is so adorable.

"For better or for worse, babe," she repeats, letting the memories of their wedding vows wash through her.

Brittany turns into her stomach and nuzzles gently, hands reaching for tanned ones and threading their fingers together when she finds one. "For better or for worse," she mumbles, drifting off to sleep a second later.

Santana leans down to drop a kiss to her wife's forehead and then settles back for a few hours of uncomfortable sleep.

* * *

"This is so not how I planned spending our day off together," Brittany grumbles against Santana's stomach.

Santana brushes back a piece of hair and sighs. "I know, honey, but you've got to get better."

"I know," she groans and twists further, pressing her cheek to Santana's covered stomach. Their eyes meet and Santana smiles softly, her head tilting to the side. "This sucks," Brittany whines, pouting and Santana would do literally anything to wipe that look off her face.

So she thinks of the only thing she can do and shifts, hooking her hands beneath Brittany's arms and tugging her up so her head's on the pillow. Blue eyes roam gaze at her, filled with confusion and she just waits, reaching down the bed to pull the comforter up and over their heads, burying them in darkness.

Brittany giggles and Santana smiles at the sound, shifting closer and pulling their bodies together, legs tangling down by the end of the bed. Her arms come around her wife's waist and she snuggles deeper until there's no space between them, and even though they're covered in darkness, Santana leans forward and finds Brittany's lips with ease, brushing her own over them once, gently, before her wife reels back.

"Don't kiss me," Brittany says and Santana frowns and pouts simultaneously. "I'm sick."

"Baby, I don't care," she drapes her hand across a slim waist and nuzzles their noses together.

"You might catch it."

"Then I guess you'll just have to look after me, won't you?" She grins and there's a pause before Brittany's kissing her, cupping her jaw and exhaling through her nose as Santana puts a little more pressure into it.

They kiss softly for a few moments, Santana dipping in and tasting toothpaste and mouthwash but not caring because there's still that underlying sweetness that's all Brittany, and Brittany sighs as the kiss slows and leaves them pecking at each other playfully. The lips on hers are warm and soft and even though this isn't what they had planned for today it doesn't matter, as long as they're together.

She smiles into the next kiss, threading her fingers through blonde hair to keep Brittany there and just thinks about how she has this forever.

And what a wonderful future she has.

* * *

Four days later and Brittany's still ill. She's still vomiting―admittedly not as much―but she definitely still is, but the weirdest thing about that is that she hasn't eaten so neither of them know what the hell she's throwing up.

But she supposes stomach bugs just do that, and so when the fifth day comes, Santana tells Brittany that if she's still throwing up tomorrow she's calling the doctor. The only reason she hadn't so far was because her wife begged her not to, telling her that doctors always managed to find a reason to keep you there, and so Santana sighed a small 'fine' and kissed Brittany goodbye as she headed off to work.

She really had no intention of going, but Brittany told her again that it was pointless her being at home and not earning money purely because she was throwing up. And after a long not-really-an-argument argument, Santana agreed to it and headed off to work the third day that Brittany was ill.

It didn't matter though. The entire time she was supposed to be listening in the meeting that discussed Quinn's album cover, she was staring at her phone and thinking of how she'd make Brittany feel better when she got home and if Brittany would kill her for calling a doctor despite her previous objections.

Brittany being sick has really started pressing on Santana and even though Brittany says she's feeling better, Santana can't shake this weirdness that there's something more.

On the third day Brittany was sick, and Santana had come home from her first full day at work in a couple of days, she found her wife in the kitchen making a peanut butter and Oreo sandwich, claiming that she had a craving for it. The whole experience was strange, but Brittany's done weirder things and so Santana just shrugged and asked her if she could make her one too. Safe to say it was in her top five most disgusting things that she's ever eaten.

The fourth day Brittany was sick, Santana came home to find Brittany in the bedroom completely topless, pushing at the her boobs and nipples and wincing. Shamefully, it'd made a flush scorch across Santana's skin because they'd been having sex every single night for the past four weeks and it'd been days since she and Brittany had slept together, but then her wife started crying and all thought of arousal just shot straight from her mind and body.

It was so weird because only moments later when Santana came back with a few tissues, Brittany was no longer crying but throwing her pajama pants across the room and saying how itchy they were. And Santana just stood there, mouth open and confusion racing through her.

So now it's day five and Santana's in the kitchen, cooking up some breakfast for her after leaving a frowning and mostly naked Brittany in bed, staring down at her stomach and claiming she's bloated despite Santana not seeing a single thing wrong with her body. She's still as smoking hot as she was when she wasn't sick.

"Baby?" She calls from the kitchen. "Do you want to try and eat a pancake?"

A muffled "okay" comes from the bedroom and Santana flicks off the stove, grabbing another plate from the cupboard above her and poking one onto the spare plate, whilst three lay stacked on her own. She doesn't know whether Brittany wants any maple syrup or anything with it, so she just drowns hers in syrup so if her wife wants some, she can just steal some off her plate.

She walks back into the bedroom, carrying both plates and the correct cutlery and nudges open the door with her foot, sliding in and smiling softly as her eyes meet crystal blue ones. Brittany's hands are pressing against her flat stomach as she sits cross legged on the bed and Santana pinches her lips up at the side, knowing her wife's thoughts immediately. But there's no point in trying to tell Brittany that she really doesn't look bloated, because the hormones have been so all over the place recently Santana could either be yelled at or cried at and she's not quite sure how to react yet.

Plus she's already said it like, fifteen times and Brittany hasn't believed her, so.

"Here you go, B," she whispers, climbing onto the bed carefully and handing a plate, knife and fork to her wife before sitting down opposite, mimicking her position.

"Hmmm," Brittany hums and inhales the food. "These smell good."

Santana grins and nods. "Yeah, now eat up, sweetie."

They both begin to eat, their kneecaps touching and eyes flicking up with each bite to smile at each other, and Santana begins to feel a little more at ease. She knows Brittany hates being ill but Brittany has never been ill for this long before―she always sleeps it off and recovers really quickly―and it's kind of worried her.

But now Brittany's showing a little more brightness and Santana loves it. So much so that she waits until she catches blue eyes again and swallows her mouthful before lifting herself to kiss Brittany, feeling the lips curl into a grin against her mouth. It's quick but meaningful and she bites back a smile as she pulls back. Even now kissing Brittany still manages to give her butterflies.

They finish their pancakes in silence―Brittany leaning over to swipe some syrup up for a few bites―and remarkably, Brittany actually gets through hers and manages to keep it down. It's the first piece of _normal_ food―meaning _not_ peanut butter on melon― she's eaten in days and Santana almost makes a comment about how Brittany puking was probably because she's been eating the weirdest mixes of food that wouldn't settle well, but she doesn't and instead grabs their plates, shoving them back onto the side table and crawls up the bed to sit behind her wife, arms wrapping around her waist and lips dropping small kisses to her bare shoulder.

"You feeling any better?"

Brittany rests her head back, twisting her head to kiss the underside of Santana's jaw. "A little. I reckon I'll be fine by the end of the week," she says, resting her hands over the tanned ones laying across her stomach. "Then we can have a proper day off together."

Santana hums in acknowledgment and lets her chin rest on Brittany's shoulder, turning every now and then to press a kiss to her cheek just because. They sit like that for a while, thumbs stroking over skin and chests rising and falling together in sync, but then natural calls and Santana groans.

"Need to get up, Britt," she says, a soft, reverent kiss placed on the base of a pale neck. "Gotta pee."

She slips out from behind her wife and makes her way to the bathroom, pulling down her boxers when she stands over the toilet. Her eyes search around the bathroom, looking for random things when something catches her eye and she actually freezes, mid-pee and everything, to stare at it. Her vision wavers a little and her heart begins to beat so loud she can't even hear her own breathing over it pounding inside her ears as she shakes and puts herself away, reaching up towards the item and holding it between both hands as she brings it to her chest.

And that's when it pops into her mind. That's when things start making sense.

_Holy shit._

Her legs begin to lead her out the bathroom before she makes the conscious decision, and she stops in the doorway, mind registering Brittany lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling but eyes staying firmly locked on this item.

"Uh," she clears her throat and swallows thickly. "Britt?"

Brittany shifts and Santana hears her breath hitch as blue eyes slide her way, finding the small box between her hands.

"When..." she trails off, mouth becoming so dry she's sure she can't speak, but she coughs again and glances between her wife and the box, trying to think of the right way to put it. "Um, when was your―your, _um,_ last per―period?"

And then it goes silent.

* * *

**Part 3 coming soon...**


	4. The Most Amazing Thing

**Title: **The Most Amazing Thing  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Word Count: **4.8k  
**Summary:** _Little did they know though that later wasn't as far in the future as either of them had thought._  
**Notes: **Born from a prompt from an anonymous source! Part of the _If It Hurts This Much _universe.

* * *

Her eyes are wide and Santana lets her eyes drift to find two pale hands reaching to press either side of Brittany's stomach, both of them finally registering the words and situation that might have arisen without either of their knowledge. She can feel heat spreading across her skin and not in the way she's accustomed too.

This is panic. She's panicking and she knows she really shouldn't be because if she feels this way then how the fuck does Brittany feel.

She drops the box of tampons and quickly moves to Brittany, sliding onto the bed and sitting close to her, her hands finding Brittany's on her stomach and covering them. Brittany's eyes are clouded and dazed, and Santana can't help but stare as her eyebrows knit together, unsure of how she feels.

Are they ready for this?

For a baby?

Her heart almost stops beating right then and she's not sure how she feels so panicked but strangely relieved at the same time. She knows they had a discussion about this a few months back after that fight... But she didn't think they'd be seriously considering it so soon.

_Shit._

"Britt... I... What―" she stutters and tries to wet her lips but fails. Her mouth's so dry she's not sure a gallon of water would help her.

"But I'm..." Brittany's mouth parts as she whispers the word, her eyes finally coming back to look straight into Santana's. "I'm on... I mean―I'm on the pill."

Santana's eyes widen and she nods, not entire sure why the hell she's nodding. Her face feels so hot right now, her cheeks spiking with heat but she's not sure how that's possible because the moment the thought, the possibility popped into her head, all the blood drained from her face.

They're both speechless and they stare at each other like one will come up with the answer, but then Santana thinks about it, like _really _thinks about it and without conscious thought, her gaze is dropping down to Brittany's stomach, to the tanned and pale hands still pressing either side and something inside of her flutters. A sound comes from her throat, halfway between an exhalation of air and halfway between a croak, and Brittany's eyes bore into her own when she looks up, trying to read her.

"You..." She pauses when crystal blue eyes begin to gloss over, fearing she's said the wrong thing. One hand comes up to cup Brittany's cheek and she stares into her eyes, trying to think of the right thing to say.

Usually she can read her wife like a book. It's somethings she's always been able to do but right now, she can't seem to pick up on a single thing. Not an emotion or a flicker or fucking anything, and Santana has this desperate need to know what's going on inside Brittany's head.

"We need―We need to get you a preg―" the word makes her breath catch but she clears her throat, pushing through it. "We need to―to make sure."

Brittany's staring at her but it doesn't feel like she's really _looking, _and Santana can feel her own perplexed expression on her face as she processes the events that have just arisen.

Brittany might be pregnant. It makes sense. All the symptoms of Brittany's illness points towards it; cravings, throwing up, cramps, hormones. It makes perfect sense and Santana gets into this weird daze as she thinks about it more and more, wondering what this means. What's going to happen from now? Their one and only conversation didn't really lead them anywhere. It didn't have a final decision about the future, it was just left open and now she knows they've got to discuss this. They _have _to now.

But first, they've got to make sure of something.

"Shall I..." she can't seem to finish a full sentence without interrupting with some bodily function and blinks, shaking away the overwhelming amount of thoughts in her mind. "Shall I go and buy you one?"

It takes her running the pad of her thumb over Brittany's cheek to grab the blonde's attention and Brittany just ends up nodding weakly, like she's not sure what's going on. Santana doesn't think she's seen her wife like this, even when they were 'just best friends,' and honestly, it's scaring the crap out of her.

Standing on shaky legs, she mindlessly picks up a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and begins to change, sliding her belt through her buckle and tightening it when she's finished. Her neck twists and eyes search without choosing to and she glances back at Brittany, who's still sat still on the bed, frozen and void of any emotion and she just has to do something. She has to because she's not sure what's going on.

Is Brittany distraught? Disappointed? Angry? Upset? Santana doesn't know and it's killing her.

But now isn't the time to ask. Now isn't the time to act on what _she _wants and so she walks back to the bed, whispering to Brittany to get back beneath the covers and that she's going to be back within ten minutes and Brittany just slides into bed, her eyes still clouded and body tense.

And with a kiss to her forehead, Santana leaves the apartment and heads for the market.

* * *

With two pregnancy tests bought and in a paper bag in her left hand, she walks back to the apartment, suddenly feeling very conscious that everyone has suddenly gained x-ray vision and can see inside the bag. It's stupid because they can't, and it's not like she should worry anyway because she doesn't know what's going to happen from now. But that makes her worry more: not knowing.

Does Brittany want a baby? For that matter, does Santana want a baby?

She knows she was staring at that woman in the supermarket a few months back, wishing that Brittany was carrying a piece of both of them inside her, but was that just a temporary craving?

And now that it's actually here, does it mean something complete different to back then? This is way more serious now.

Shit.

How are they be able to cope with it if Brittany _is _pregnant? When will they have the discussion about it? They've only been married for a few months and sure, it feels like forever already but is it too soon? Will Brittany even want to keep the baby?

Her thoughts are so muddled and overwhelming that she ends up walking the wrong way home and it takes an extra five minutes to get home, but she gets there and then it hits her. It hits her so hard she reaches that freezing stage Brittany was at when she left and stills on the stoop, staring blankly at the door whilst her hand grasping the key hovers by the lock.

This is actually happening.

She's actually just bought two pregnancy tests because Brittany might actually be _pregnant._

Holy crap.

Her son or daughter might be growing inside Brittany at this very moment.

(She tries not to smile.)

* * *

It takes her another ten minutes of standing there, riffling through her thoughts and trying to go through every possible path that might occur when she goes inside, whether it's an abortion, or keeping the baby, or even putting it up for adoption, for her to get moving once more.

Her heart clenches at two of those paths, but it smiles at one of them.

Cautiously, she slides the key into the lock and twists it open, pushing the door open and stepping over the threshold, inhaling Brittany and warmth and home. Her heart flutters and she throws her keys into the bowl to her right as she kicks the door closed behind her.

She's pretty much shaking as she walks through the apartment, discarding her jacket and throwing it somewhere before entering the bedroom. She pushes the door open cautiously and finds Brittany lying down in bed, curled up above the covers now, one hand pressed to her stomach and the other wiping tears from her eyes.

Panic immediately shoots through Santana and she drops the paper bag onto the dresser before bolting over to her wife, sliding in behind her and hugging her close to her body. Kisses, small and soft press to pale skin as Santana slips her palm down over Brittany's, fingers sliding between long, slender ones and pushing gently into the fabric covering toned abs.

"I'm here," she whispers, feeling her wife's body wrack with sobs. "I'm here, baby. We'll be fine. We'll be okay."

Brittany turns over and presses her face into a tanned neck, nose nuzzling the skin there as Santana adjusts and shuffles further into the other girl, dropping kisses into blonde hair. She lets Brittany cry for a little while, just calming her down with small murmurs of "I love you" and "I'll be here no matter what" just to let her know. She doesn't know how her wife feels. She doesn't know how she's reacting and it's making her freak out but she won't show that. Not whilst Brittany's like this.

* * *

A few moments later, Brittany's body begins to slow down, her shoulders no longer jolting as she cries against Santana's neck. They lay there together, curled up into each other and Santana swallows against a thick layer covering her throat, nervous for what's to come. The paper bag is still on the dresser, staring at her mockingly and she doesn't know how to feel.

She wants to have babies with Brittany. There's no question about that. She wants the sleepless nights and the erratic hormones. She wants to look after Brittany when she cries and be there when she just wants to shout. She wants the panicked run to the hospital and the hours of labor because she knows at the end, she's going to get some perfect out of it. Something that's hers and Brittany's, and something that's come from Brittany.

And nothing can be more perfect than that, in her opinion.

(Apart from Brittany of course.)

But she doesn't know if she wants that now. She doesn't know if Brittany wants that now. It might be too soon.

Rubbing her hand up and down her wife's ribs, Santana rolls onto her back, pulling Brittany with her until the blonde's draped over her body. She just listens to her wife's breathing calming down, and how she sniffles and uses the hand by her face to wipe the drying tears away. She lies there and listens, and stares at the ceiling, wondering how to approach this.

Except she doesn't know what to say.

"Santana?"

Her eyes widen at the sudden voice and she tilts her head down to look into blue eyes. "Yeah?"

"Did..." Brittany takes in a shaky breath. "Did you get one?"

Santana bites her lip and nods slowly. "I got two. Just―you know, to make sure."

Brittany stares at her with red eyes and keeps the hold for a long moment before bobbing her head, swallowing and rolling off. Santana's following her not a second later, a step behind as the blonde walks towards the dresser and reaches out with a quivering hand to grab the paper bag, her breath stilling as she peels it open and takes a peek inside.

Silence is all that is around them as Santana waits. She knows she needs to be patient even though everything inside of her just burns with the _need _to know. But she won't give into that. This isn't about her and what she wants. She isn't the one that might be pregnant. She isn't the one that might be carrying a baby for the next nine months or the one that might be taking a trip to Planned Parenthood and coming back with something less than she got there with. She'll be the one standing by the side watching and trying to help but failing since there's nothing she can do.

Oh, God. This is actually happening.

Santana sucks in a deep, shaky breath at the thought.

"I'm gonna―I'm gonna go and..." Brittany trails off, eyes dropping to the bag to finish the sentence she can't.

Santana steps forward and cups her cheek. She doesn't know what to do. Should she go in with Brittany whilst she takes the test? Or should she give her some space and privacy and just wait in the bedroom, instead? She doesn't know. So she asks, instead.

"Shall I wait out here?"

Blue eyes gaze into hers, whilst Brittany chews on the corner of her lower lip and thinks about the answer. She's clearly deep in thought and Santana still doesn't know what to do. And frankly it's sort of pissing her off. Why doesn't she know? She thought if the time came she'd know exactly what to do, to say, to make Brittany feel better, or to take some of the pressure off but she doesn't.

And she doesn't know whether that's a good or a bad thing.

_Fuck._

"Yeah," Brittany finally answers, the uneasiness in her voice evident as her eyes dart between brown ones. "I have to do this on my own," she whispers afterward, mostly to herself, Santana thinks. "Is that―Is that okay?"

Shocked that she's being asked that, Santana sort of just stares blankly for a moment, trying to think whether that's okay. She knows that this is definitely to do with her so she should have some input into the matter at some point, but at this stage? The not knowing part? She doesn't know whether she's _allowed _to say anything.

So she just makes this weird, throaty sound that sounds like a confirmation, but she knows it might not come across like that to Brittany and begins to move her head up and down in a strange, awkward half-nod. Her hand drops from her wife's face and squeezes at her hand grabbing the bag as she takes a step back, letting Brittany step past her and she just observes as Brittany heads towards the bathroom, head dropped and eyes most probably focused on the bag she's carrying.

And when the door closes, Santana does all that she can not to collapse onto the floor and manages to get to the bed, dropping down onto the edge and burying her face into her hands.

The next few minutes are about to change _everything._

* * *

Even though it's only several minutes of wanting, it feels like hours.

Santana sits on the bed, feeling her stomach twist with nerves and hands shake, too and just thinks about her wife on the other side of the bathroom door. With a deep breath she picks her head up and flops back to the bed, legs still dangling off the edge as her elbows stick up in the air and hands come back to cover her face.

This is so hard, just waiting and thinking. She doesn't know what's going to happen, and her thoughts are too wild to even consider what _might _happen. She breathes out steadily, trying to keep her heart rate down but failing as she listens to the intense thumping. She can't even imagine how Brittany's feeling because Santana herself is a nervous wreck.

Never once has she imagined this situation. She thought many times about having a baby with Brittany and their future with children, but all those thoughts were filled with what comes after the birth. She never thought about the finding out, the conception or the actual birth itself. And _fuck, _she's seen childbirth. She remembers sitting in the back row with Brittany in high school watching some gruesome video that was way too graphic for a bunch of thirteen year old's, and quivering at the detailed scenes on TV, selfishly glad she'd never have to go through it herself.

She's heard how painful the birth is and she doesn't want Brittany to go through that, not if she doesn't want it. She can't imagine Brittany being in that much pain and Santana having absolutely no method of making her feel better.

It's awful. It really is. Santana feels so helpless and she wants to be there for Brittany, but she doesn't know how.

Swallowing hard, she scrunches up her face and lets out an angry growl, pushing up from the bed and pacing around the bedroom, one hand cocked to her hip and the other on her forehead, fingers pinching her temples. Her facial muscles are aching from ages of frowning and worry, and she doesn't know what the hell she's doing, just walking around like this.

But shit, she's being so selfish for thinking like this. It almost makes her want to punch herself in the head because Brittany's alone, in the bathroom, peeing on a stick that in a few minutes will forever change both of their lives. Maybe even their relationship.

Pregnancy wasn't in there short term plan. They're only twenty seven for God's sake. Sure there are other couples in the world's with children, Santana was freaking _staring _at one mother who must have been younger than her a few months back but that doesn't mean they're ready.

Yeah, okay, that whole staring thing led to an argument with Brittany, but she explained everything. She explained why she was staring and it all turned out okay because they decided not to have that conversation there as it was too early, and decided it could be something pushed until a later date. Instead they traded cute little comments and ended up rolling back onto the bed, laughing into a kiss.

Little did they know though that later wasn't as far in the future as either of them had thought.

Her thoughts are so muddled and powerful that she doesn't hear the bathroom door open behind her, and doesn't even notice Brittany's now come out until she hears her name being called. She spins round urgently, heart jumping and jolting and she rushes to her wife, stopping in front of her and letting her eyes roam around Brittany's face.

"Did you do it? Did you do the test?"

Brittany's bottom lip begins to wobble and her eyes begin to water, and Santana's heart almost stops as her wife begins to nod sheepishly, lifting something between them. It takes a few seconds for brown eyes to drop to Brittany's hands, but then she finds them, two sticks clutched inside a pale hand, the little screen revealing the result covered by slender fingers.

Her eyes grow wide and her body almost stops functioning altogether. She knows right there, not more than ten inches away is the answer that'll change her life. Their lives. She swallows heavily and looks up, stomach twisting nervously and the lump in her throat growing bigger and bigger.

"Did you..." she croaks out, unsure if Brittany knows the answer already. Her lips are so dry at this point and her heart is beating so fast that she can't focus on words or the ability to speak. So many scenarios are playing through her mind and she's looking at Brittany who couldn't look more terrified if she tried, and she doesn't know if she even wants to know the answer. "Do you know?"

Brittany's mouth drops open but no words come out. Tears begin to slowly trail from her cheek and Santana panics. Is that a yes? Do the tears mean Brittany's pregnant? And if so, do the tears mean Brittany's unhappy about being pregnant?

Oh, fuck. Santana's so not ready for this.

"Yeah," Brittany whimpers, voice so small she almost doesn't hear it. "I know."

In the corner of her eye, she watches a pale hand rise further between them and fingers begin to release the stick, ready to reveal the answer but Santana moves quickly, wrapping both hands around the sticks and the hand, and stops, eyes boring straight into blue ones. She needs to say something before Brittany does it, because no matter what the answer is, she needs to tell Brittany this.

"I love you, Britt," she sputters. "I love you and I'll never stop, no matter what happens from now. Whatever you want to do, with this," she squeezes Brittany's hand to emphasize the meaning. "I'm going to support you. I love you and I..." she swallows, not knowing what to say. "I just love you and I need you to know that."

They gaze at each other for a long moment and Santana watches as Brittany nods, jaw clenching as she pulls her hand out from beneath tanned ones and brings it between their chests, uncurling her fingers until the screen is visible.

And Santana can't breath. Her eyes are still locked on Brittany's face and she knows she should look down―she _wants _to look down―but she's frozen. Her vision is blurring and she can feel the pressure coming down on her like a ton of bricks, and she sucks in her lips, holding a deep breath as blue eyes flicker down and back up to meet deep, brown orbs again.

Then Brittany just says it. Straight up. Without even a stutter or hesitation.

"I'm four weeks pregnant."

The words hit Santana like a baseball bat to the gut and she chokes, mouth dropping open and eyes bulging out, finally peering down to look at the tests to find two blue lines on each and a little four in the corner before coming back to take in the expression on Brittany's face. Her blue eyes are frightened. They're frightened but happy and Santana sees none of the confusion or panic she sees before. This time as she stares into her wife's eyes she can see the happiness and joy at the announcement before Brittany even has time to say it and she exhales through a smile, it coming out as a grin.

Brittany's pregnant.

Brittany's fucking pregnant, and the best part, Brittany's fucking _happy _about this. She's fucking happy which means they're keeping it.

Shit. She's going to be a mother.

Santana chokes out a few more puffs of air, her lungs unable to function properly, before her stomach begins to move and shoulders begin to shake and then she's grinning. She's grinning because they're having a baby. They're having a baby and she never thought anything could feel like this because _fuck, _this is amazing.

Instantly her knees buckle and she crouches to the floor, her face burying into Brittany's stomach and arms wrapping around her legs to hug her closer. She presses as many kisses to her wife's clothed abs as possible and squeezes her eyes shut, feeling fingers rake through her hair and nails graze gently over her scalp, whilst Brittany's stomach move with her laughter.

"We're having a baby," comes from above and Santana pulls back to look up at Brittany who looks so overjoyed that she can't possibly control her emotions and shoots up from the floor, throwing her arms around her wife's waist and picking her from the floor, spinning her around in a circle as they both laugh and smile.

Fuck, they're having a baby.

Hands clutch at her shoulders and she slows down the spinning when they slide up her neck, her own hands dropping to Brittany's ass to hold her up as long legs wrap around her waist, adjusting into a more comfortable position. Forearms press into her shoulder blades and clutch her closely and she buries her face into Brittany's neck, now standing in the middle of their room with Brittany in her arms and they're both so fucking happy she can't even begin to explain it.

She reels back to stare at her wife, and Brittany's grinning so widely that Santana's heart flips and flutters at the sight and she glances down between them to her wife's stomach just because. There's a baby growing in there. _Their _baby growing in there and holy shit, she's so fucking happy she could cry.

"I love you," she chokes out, a second before Brittany comes towards her and kisses her softly. She presses harder into it, wetness beginning to trail down her cheeks and she pulls back with a sniffle, pale hands reaching for her cheeks to wipe away the tears of joy that she didn't know were there.

"I love you, too, baby," Brittany replies, still smiling, her eyes brighter than ever and Santana just shakes her head and brings their mouths back together, kissing her wife.

Because Brittany's _pregnant. _And it's the most amazing thing _ever._

* * *

"You're pregnant."

It still feels so surreal to say that, even as they're lying in bed, Brittany on her back and Santana further down the bed, ear pressed to her wife's bare stomach where it has been for the past half an hour, after she'd insisted that she needed to introduce herself to their baby without the blockage of clothing. Her fingers trace mindless patterns across toned abs and Brittany giggles above, stroking through dark hair with a gentle touch.

"Are you ever going to stop saying that?" The other girl jokes, her body shaking with the chuckle that follows.

Santana twists her head, chin now resting on her wife's stomach. "Nope," she pops the 'p' and grins. "I just can't believe it."

"Neither can I," Brittany breathes. "It just doesn't feel real."

She knows exactly what Brittany means and presses a kiss to soft skin. "We're actually going to start a family, Britt Britt," she breathes, grinning at her own words. "We're going to have a little Lopez-Pierce running around."

Brittany bites down on her lip but the smile can't be hidden. She chuckles and the grin spreads so wide across her face that Santana has to kiss it, so she shuffles up, nudging long legs apart and settles between them, supporting herself on her hands either side of blonde hair, her own dark locks curtaining around them, and drops her head to suck Brittany's bottom lip into her mouth.

Pale hands slide down her back and around her ribs, squeezing gently as Santana opens her mouth against Brittany's and lets Brittany's tongue stroke against herself, making a low moan come from deep inside her chest.

They kiss, long and slow, and so, _so _deep, and minutes pass just like that, their kisses only growing longer and deeper, until Brittany smiles against her mouth and the kiss is broken. She pulls back, eyebrows frowning a little but lowers herself, her entire body pressing down onto Brittany's and forearms digging into the mattress as their noses brush against each other, kissing because their grinning mouths can't.

And then they opens their eyes, smiling at each other and taking in the words and thoughts that flash behind each others expressions. Santana begins to think about the future where she and Brittany are going to be in a few years, sitting in _their_ house outside the city, on a loveseat on _their_ decking, watching _their_ children run about in their back yard, chasing after _their _golden retriever.

And she can't help but smile.

Because she knows what the future holds for them, and as she shifts to the side and lowers one hand to press her palm against Brittany's stomach, she knows she can't wait the future to begin.

* * *

**The End! Hope you enjoyed and look out for more filled prompts coming! :)**

**if you want to request anything, just head over to my Tumblr at justsomebrittanagleek DOT tumblr DOT com and leave it in the ask!**


	5. The Things We Do

**Title: **The Things We Do  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Word Count: **2.7k  
**Summary: **They've started doing this thing where they go on dates every Friday night.  
**Notes: **My beta gave me the prompt '_basically they should do some kind of sexy thang in public sometime' _and elaborated a bit, so I decided to let her prompt jump the queue and yeah, this is what came of it. Once again it's part of the _If It Hurts This Much _universe, so enjoy and review!

* * *

They've started doing this thing where they go on dates every Friday night.

Work's been busier for both of them, and Brittany's now thirteen weeks pregnant which means her body's playing up a little and it's getting her down, and so every week they go and do something different together. Something that's just for them, whether that's climbing the Empire State Building at night time, seeing a show on Broadway or even just going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Whatever it is, they do it together and it's just amazing.

So it gets to Friday night again, and Santana comes home from work and throws herself face down on the sofa. She hears a giggle and lifts her head enough to find Brittany sitting on the kitchen counter, laughing at her and munching on a bowl of Fruit Loops.

"Hey," she grumbles, dropping her head again.

She would get up to greet Brittany but she's fucking exhausted and her limbs feel like they weigh three tonnes each. Today was filled with what felt like a million conferences with rich assholes who she had to sweet talk into convince into giving financial aid to help with the tour she's planning for Quinn.

Except that only ended up in several of them questioning Quinn's ability and one saying how she was just some 'small town chick' who would drop from the charts within a year and be forgotten about.

Obviously that hadn't sat well with Santana and she'd wound up having a full blown argument―her part in Spanish―with one of them and that lead to the guy completely pulling out of giving any money towards it, or any project in the future.

Boy, had Quinn been pissed.

But now Santana just wants to forget the day, curl up to her wife and sleep off the stress. That sounds like the best idea in the world.

Brittany chuckles again, drops her bowl in the sink and hops down from the counter, gliding over to stand by her side. "I wanna cuddle," she says, stretching her arms down and wiggling her fingers in the air like a child.

Santana grins, shakes her head and pushes up from the couch, twisting to wrap her arms around her wife's waist, nose burying into the crook of her neck. She closes her eyes and all the stress and the shit just washes straight off her.

That really is the best thing about coming home to Brittany; no matter what happens in the day, she comes home to a ray of sunshine and all the crap just vanishes.

"Tough day?"

Santana nods against Brittany's shoulder, lip poking out into a pout. "Yeah," she groans. "I had to kiss some rich butt."

Brittany pulls back, arms staying looped around her neck and fingers toying with fine, dark hair at the back of a tanned neck. "Poor baby. Do you just want to stay in tonight?"

"No," Santana inhales through her nose and wiggles her head. She won't have her date ruined just 'cause of some wealthy bastard.

"Then let's do something simple."

She bumps their noses together. "Like what?"

"I don't know," the blonde lifts her shoulder, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. "How about going to see a movie?" She suggests, eyes brightening and grin widening. "It'll be like we're teenagers going on our first date."

Santana giggles and kisses her wife softly, slowly, before pulling away and licking her lips. "That sounds good, baby. You got a film in mind?"

"I don't know what's on."

"Let's have a look then," she presses one lingering kiss to pink lips and pulls away, dropping back down to the sofa and reaching beneath it to grab her laptop.

Brittany drops down beside her, legs throwing over her lap and one tanned hand shoots to rub up and down soft skin as the other logs into the computer.

They both look together and finally settle on some cheesy rom-com with Jennifer Aniston, checking the times and deciding on the last showing tonight.

* * *

It's almost 9 when they get to the movie theater.

There aren't a lot of people there, a few teenagers coming out a horror movie and a few older couples wandering out with their arms twisted together and goofy smiles on their face, and she and Brittany share a grin, knowing that's going to be them in the years to come.

She buys their tickets and they stand in line to get some popcorn because apparently it's just not the same if you don't have popcorn, according to Brittany and they get a medium size and two sodas since the salt in the popcorn always makes Santana's mouth dry. Then they head up to the right screen and the lights are still on, which makes it easier to find their seats.

Santana makes it halfway up the stairs, eyes flicking up the aisle numbers to find their designated one when Brittany comes up behind her and giggles naughtily in her ear. Her back is as straight as a pole in an instant, and she twists around to eye her wife because she knows what that giggle means. "Uh, Britt?"

Brittany bites her lip and her eyes twinkle. "Yeah, honey?"

"You know we can't do that here."

"I know," the blonde says, rotating the upper half of her body from side to side and looking more innocent than she should be considering her smoldering stare. "But we can totally sit at the back and make out."

Santana's eyebrows shoot up and she glances around, seeing only a few people in the theater. Her eyes flick back to blue and she knows she doesn't really have a choice in the matter because her hand's already grabbing Brittany's and they're marching up the stairs to the back row.

They slide into their seats and since the film isn't full, Santana kicks her feet up onto the seat, ankles crossing and flips up the arm of the chair to allow Brittany to snuggle into her side.

Seriously, she doesn't know why they don't just make a movie theater with sofa's or something. It'd be a lot easier and more comfortable for that matter.

A few minutes later and the lights die down, the previews showing up on screen and Brittany reaches over to her lap where the popcorn sits, burying her hand into the deepest part of the bucket. Santana's eyes bug and hips jerk when she feels the pressure coming down on her groin and snaps her head down to Brittany.

Except Brittany's not staring or smirking at her, instead she's staring at the screen, the lights flashing across her face as she pulls her hand back, popping a kernel of popcorn into her mouth and Santana just narrows her eyes.

Now she doesn't know if her the other girl's doing that on purpose.

So she just sits back to enjoy the film.

* * *

The film is half an hour in when Santana figures out that Brittany's most definitely doing the popcorn thing on purpose.

They used to go to the cinema all the time as teenagers and never once did Brittany ever reach down to grab the popcorn at the bottom to grab a few kernels; she always ate from the top. In fact, she'd always have the bucket on her lap instead of Santana's and the seventeenth time her hand conveniently bumps the bottom of the bucket, putting a little bit of pressure onto Santana's crotch, Santana snaps.

The heat was building more and more around her collar with every tiny bit of pressure and it's just too much now. She's already straining against the inside of her boxers and if Brittany keeps doing that she's going to explode from sexual frustration.

"Britt," she whispers, urgently. "You gotta stop doing that."

Blue eyes slide in her direction. "Doing what, San?" She says, innocently, but there's a smirk on her face.

Santana shifts and lifts the bucket from her lap. "Bumping the bottom of the bucket. You're... You know," she widens her eyes and lets them obviously drift down to her crotch.

"Oh," Brittany replies, but her eyebrow lifts, knowing exactly what she's doing. "Oops."

Something relatively important must happen in the film because a guy a few rows down turns around to glare at Santana, pushing his finger to his lips to signal them to be quiet. Santana pulls her mouths down at the side, revealing the bottom row of her teeth and whispers "sorry" even though he probably can't hear. But he still sits back in his seat and they're left alone.

Although it seems Santana has the idea to be quiet and watch the rest of the movie, Brittany doesn't and shifts against her side, twisting and drops a single kiss against a tanned neck softly. Santana stiffens, the feel of warm lips shooting straight through her and bottoming out in her crotch and she bites down on her lip, hearing a low, naughty chuckle from beside her.

"Baby," she whines, facing her wife and cupping her cheek. "I really don't think we can even make out."

Brittany's face drops. "Why?"

Brown eyes flicker down to make sure no-one's watching them. "I'm horny as hell, babe," she tells Brittany honestly, voice heavy with arousal. "And if we make out there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to keep my hands off you, and I'm pretty sure we'll be kicked out for that."

"Maybe _you_keep your hands to yourself then," the blonde murmurs, already leaning down to bring their mouths together, and that's Santana rendered powerless.

She wants to ask what Brittany means but she doesn't have to because fingers are already sliding down her stomach and unbuckling her belt, popping open the button of her jeans and dipping beneath the waistband of her boxers. Her mind quickly registers what Brittany's doing and despite her mind thinking of how bad this could turn out, her body's already reacting and she's shifting further down the seat for easier access.

The breath she takes gets stuck in her throat when Brittany pulls back and wordlessly slips her hand inside Santana's boxers, fingers wrapping delicately around her throbbing erection. Her eyes bug out and she doesn't know how she's so hot for Brittany in such an inappropriate place, but that thought doesn't linger in her mind to long because lips cover hers and a tongue dips into his mouth at the same time Brittany begins to stroke her languidly, squeezing lightly at the base.

Shamelessly, Santana pushes up with her hips and breaks the kiss, sucking in her lips to keep from moaning. The chair begins to squeak beneath her and so not only is she trying not to make noises from her but now she's got to keep perfectly still.

Holy shit. This is _so _not good.

"Britt," she gasps, lowly, thankful for the sudden blast of noise coming from the film to mask her voice. Brittany's hand works faster and faster against her, a warm tongue sliding across her pulse point and a flush scorches across her skin, fingers gripping onto anything she can get a hold of. "Fuck."

She feels Brittany smirk against her skin and tips her head forward, hanging it down so she can rest an elbow on the arm not near Brittany and cover her mouth with her fist. Her eyes squeeze shut and the pressure in the base of her spine builds and builds as talented fingers slow down and twist around her shaft, stroking from base to head at an agonizingly slow pace.

She begins to rock her hips, needing to speed this up because it's getting so fucking hard to keep quiet and she's sure she's being just as loud as she was when she and Brittany were whispering so _fuck, _that guy might turn around, and shit, the need to get off is hitting her really hard in the gut.

"Faster," she pants, opening her eyes and watching as Brittany's fist twists around her member and picks up the pace faster.

Seeing it makes everything a million times hotter and her shoulder blades push into the seat, the muscles in her thighs tensing to keep her hips still and chair silent. She's really got to be fucking quiet and her teeth are digging so hard into her bottom lip there's a possibility she might draw blood with a tiny bit more pressure.

But then out the corner of her eye she sees small light coming up the stairs to her right and her body stiffens. Brittany's lips keep working over her neck, her hand still stroking her, and she's so close to coming she can feel it behind her eyeballs but there's a fucking usher coming up the stairs.

Shit. Is she being loud?

Then the lips on her neck pull away and barely a second later Brittany's whispering dirty things into her ear, her hand picking up the pace until Santana's hips are lifting off the seat and she's pushed over the edge. Her head snaps back, eyes squeeze shut and she quickly tugs her boxers over her cock to keep from getting come anywhere visible, but she's so painfully aware that there's a fucking theater worker coming towards them that she can't enjoy her release so much.

It's still incredible though and she whimpers as Brittany strokes her down, giggling lowly into her ear and flicking her tongue against her earlobe and she shuffles back up the seat, eying her wife when Brittany pulls back and smirks.

She doesn't have time to say anything though because she can hear footsteps coming down the row and she subtly but quickly grabs the popcorn bucket and places it over her lap, shoving Brittany's hand back into her own lap choosing not to do her own jeans back up since there's no time.

"Excuse me?"

Santana whips her head around and smiles. Thank fuck it's dark otherwise the blush on her face would be a clear pointer to what they were doing. "Yes?"

The usher shines the light on them quickly and Santana stiffens, but as soon as it's there it's gone and she relaxes, eying the guy standing near them. "Are you two alright up here?" He asks, narrowing his eyes.

"We're fine, thanks," Brittany pipes up, reaching into the bucket to pick up a piece of popcorn and throw in into her mouth. "I was just telling my wife how this popcorn is a little..." her eyes narrow and she smirks as she glances at Santana. "_Saltier _than it was a minute ago."

Santana's eyes widen considerably and she stops breathing, hoping the usher doesn't understand her wife's words. But the guy obviously doesn't get paid enough to care and stares at them for longer than normal, but shrugs and leaves with a grunted "okay, but keep it down" as he walks away, shoulders hunching as he descends the stairs again.

As soon as the guy's out of ear shot, she snaps her head around and glares at her wife. But she's never been able to be angry at Brittany, especially not after what she just did for her, and rolls her eyes when Brittany flashes her a grin, wrapping her arm around her shoulder again.

"You're unbelievable," she whispers, dropping a kiss to a pale forehead. "But that was so hot."

Brittany giggles naughtily, again and brushes her lips along the ledge of Santana's jaw before snuggling closer. "I know. Now shut up, I wanna watch the film."

Santana just giggles and settles back again, ignoring the discomfort in her boxers.

* * *

**Hope you liked it guys!**


	6. When The Past and Future Collide

**Title: **When The Past and The Future Collide (1/2)  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Word Count: **3k  
**Summary: **Everything's perfect, and nothing can ruin their day. Well, that's what Santana thinks until they run into a certain couple. Part of the _If If Hurts This Much _universe!

**Notes: **This is the fourth prompt I've received, but I've elaborated on it a bit. Thanks to _tubbingtonheights _on Tumblr, though!

* * *

It's like any other day in New York city, and they're walking through Central Park, Santana's hand tightly clutched around Brittany's because now that Brittany's pregnant and visibly showing a bump, she just can't seem to keep her hands off her. Whether it's holding her hand, wrapping her arm around her, twisting their arms together or even just touching her, she just has to have some kind of contact. She doesn't feel comfortable without it and Brittany doesn't mind so it's all good.

So yeah, it's like any other normal day for them, and the sun is out, the sky is bright and the grass is green. They both have a day off, they're happy, they're in love and they're having a baby. Everything's perfect, and nothing can ruin their day.

Well, that's what Santana thinks until they run into a certain couple.

Santana notices them first, and stops in her tracks as Sophie laughs and looks around, meeting her gaze. Her entire body stiffens and Brittany stills beside her, feeling the reaction and shooting her a questioning stare. Except Santana is so shocked that her ex-wife and her boyfriend are here―that she and Brittany are _that _unlucky―that she can't even tear her eyes away from the other couple and just ends up gazing at them. This of course gives a clear indication of her stopping and Brittany sees them a second Sophie and Puck reach them and just stands back, her free hand coming up to rest on her bump.

And that makes Sophie's eyes zoom immediately to Brittany's stomach, locking onto and noting that she's pregnant. Santana, for her part, just continues staring, shocked and confused. Weren't they supposed to be in California?

It's all awkward for at least a minute or two, because no-one knows what to say or how to react so they end up just looking at each other, taking in the subtle physical differences that have occurred over the past few years. Sophie looks so stressed, with faint stress lines forming on her forehead and she looks like she just needs a few good nights sleep. Puck's standing there in scuffed jeans and a leather jacket, and his mohawk is way too long to even look remotely cool (not that it ever was before) and he's got an overgrown stubble that can't quite pass for a respectable beard. He looks like he's been dragged through the relationship dirt and came out the other side tired and worn out.

Santana almost chuckles. Sophie really was hard work and she almost feels poor for Puck, but then she remembers how much of a douche he is and any sympathy she felt vanishes immediately.

"Wow," is the first word that anyone speaks and of course it's Sophie and she's still staring at Brittany's bump. "You're pregnant."

Santana bites back a scathing comment about how obvious that is, and instead reaches over with her free hand to lay it on top of a pale one, reassuring Brittany and herself. "Uh, yeah. Twenty weeks," she gets out, nodding.

Brittany shifts beside her awkwardly and squeezes their still tangled fingers together a little tighter, silently telling her that it's okay. When her eyes return back to Sophie though, she sees dark green eyes narrowed at Brittany, and Brittany's staring straight back, seeming more and more uncomfortable the longer Sophie glares.

"So," Santana pipes up, wanting to break her ex-wife's glare. "How... have... you two been?" She lands on, nodding to herself. "I thought you were in Cali?"

"We were," Sophie replies, shifting her weight. "But it wasn't what we were expecting so we moved back here."

Puck mutters something beneath his breath about "by we you mean you" and Sophie whips her head around to glare at him. Aren't they just a beaming representation of a healthy relationship.

"You two have an apartment here in New York, then?" Santana presses on, knowing it's too early to leave but wanting to get away as quickly as possible. The last thing she wants to do on her day off with her hot, pregnant wife is to speak to two people in her past. They're in her past for a reason and they're sure as hell going to stay there. Santana just needs to come up with a way of getting out of this situation. Fast, preferably.

Brittany squeezes her hand gently and she shakes herself out of her thoughts to look at her wife who looks more than uncomfortable. She pulls her eyebrows together and is about to ask her what's wrong when blue eyes flicker to hers then over towards Puck, and Santana twists her head to face him, finally pulling her stare away from her wife to look towards the guy.

Who looks about two seconds away from needing a napkin for his drool.

Anger flares across Santana's skin and one eyebrow arches, her jaw clenching as she takes a short, aggressive step towards the staring douche. "You looking to lose a few more teeth, Puckerman?" She hisses, narrowing her eyes into a glare.

Puck doesn't seem fazed by her aggression and smirks, his eyes doing another trail over Brittany which just makes the fury scorch through Santana until her fists are visibly shaking by her side.

"Just admiring your girl here, Lopez," he says like he's not blatantly checking out Brittany. Out the corner of her eye, Santana sees Sophie go a dark shade of red like she's embarrassed by Puck. No wonder why. If Santana were in Sophie's position she'd be embarrassed, too. "Her eggo's preggo and yet she's still smoking hot." Puck licks his lips and smirks, eyes still roaming over Brittany's body. "She was always a fine piece of ass, though."

Santana lips curl up into a snarl at the same time she lurches for him, but Brittany must see it before the action is completed because she wraps her fingers around a tanned wrist and tugs Santana back, shooting her that _he's not worth it _look. And even though she wants to tear Puck a new one, she knows putting any stress on Brittany wouldn't be good in terms of the pregnancy so she stands down, her shoulders relaxing but nostrils still flaring and angered breaths still escaping her lips.

"Seems like you're still on a tight leash," Puck bites with a dry chuckle. "Was about time someone tied you down."

Not only does he say it with a smirk, but then he even goes as far to throw a wink to Brittany and Santana sees red and fucking loses it. She flinches and her fist is ready to start flying when Brittany steps in front of her, probably know she couldn't hold her back now and grabs both of her forearms, pinning them to her side as she speaks.

"It was nice seeing you two again, but we've got to go."

Puck chuckles darkly and Santana's fists begin to shake as her eyes, wide and angered glare at him. She wants to hit him―_fuck, _she'd do pretty much anything to just kick the shit out of him right now―but Brittany's dragging her away and in front of them Sophie's latching onto Puck's jacket and tugging him away too, and Santana knows she'd have to leave Brittany's side to get to him and she's not going to do that.

So she just lets Brittany pull her away and calms down the second warm lips press to her cheek and the words "I love you" are whispered in her ear.

* * *

Later that night she's lounging on the sofa in sweats and a hoodie, watching the TV whilst Brittany's in the kitchen when she gets a text. She reaches over to the side table to grab her phone and flips it open, seeing it's from Quinn.

_I need a drink. You up for one? - Q_

Santana arches her back to see around the wall by the kitchen to find her wife. And her eyes find Brittany standing by the stove, cooking something and her hips are wiggling about to whatever her iPod's playing, and the largest grin spreads across Santana's face. Her wife is just too adorable.

Her phone vibrates in her hand again and she glances down, laughing at what she sees.

_Brittany will say yes so meet me at Barney's in 30 – Q_

She shakes her head and pushes up from the couch, moving into the kitchen and crossing it to wrap her arms around her wife's waist, hands falling to the pronounced bump at the same time her lips drop a kiss to the long slope of a pale neck. Brittany leans back into her, smiling and continuing to wiggle her hips as the song dies down in the docking station.

"Hey, baby," Brittany says as turns her face to peck a tanned cheek.

Santana hums and peers over her wife's shoulder at the pan sitting on the stove. There's a weird looking pancake cooking, and what looks like Oreos and chips there too. She chuckles. "You got a craving, Britt Britt?"

"I wanted some pancakes, but then I wanted Oreos and chips, too," the blonde explains, shrugging. "So I thought I'd put them all together 'cause I can't eat three things at once otherwise."

Santana feels her body shake against Brittany's as she laughs, and slips her hands beneath her wife's top to touch the warm skin low on a pale belly. "This baby is making you eat crazy things," she mutters, lips pressing to the smooth skin of a shoulder.

"It is," Brittany agrees and flicks off the stove, twisting and throwing her arms over Santana's shoulders, her bump pressing into Santana's abs as tanned hands settle on her hips. "Hey," she whispers, properly greeting Santana by kissing her softly, slowly, before tipping their foreheads together. "And yes, you can go out for drinks."

Santana's head jerks back, eyebrows scrunched together. "How did you―"

"Rachel just text me to ask if she could come over. Her and Quinn had a fight, so I'm guessing she text you."

She laughs and kisses Brittany again. "Yeah. Are you sure? I don't mind―"

"I'll be fine, San," the blonde says, pecking her nose and twisting around to the stove once more. "You don't have to worry about me or ickle baby. We'll be fine."

Santana scrunches her nose up because Brittany's just so damn cute and leans around her, kissing her on the corner of her the mouth and whispering "thank you" before skipping off to the bedroom to change.

* * *

She gets to Barney's early. She heads towards the bar and slides into one of the stools, smiling at Barney who comes over to her, throwing the rag he always seems to have over his shoulder like bartenders do in the movies.

"Haven't seen you in a while. What can I get you?"

She flashes a smile and nods, her eyes roaming around the bar. "Corona, please."

Barney nods, knowing by her drink that she's only meeting a friend and reaches into the fridge, taking out a bottle and cracking it open before sliding it down the bar to her. She catches it in her left hand and lifts it, silently thanking him before taking a long pull. Her eyes shut as the liquid slides down and settles into her stomach. She hasn't drunk for a while now, not since Brittany got pregnant. Not fair if she can drink but her wife can't so she just stopped.

Barely a minute later and a hand presses to her back, a little too low for comfort. She spins around, ready to make a remark about Quinn hitting on her when she finds a completely different set of green eyes staring back at her. Her whole body stiffens and fingers go rigid around the beer bottle, the only words coming from her mouth being, "You're not Quinn."

Sophie chuckles and slides into the stool beside her, martini glass slipping onto the bar top beside Santana's beer. "Not as far as I'm aware," she replies, looking Santana up and down, but Santana just looks away, hoping that Barney would come over here right now. That would be awesome. "I thought it was you when you came in."

"Yep," she says, a little offhandedly, not wanting to be caught speaking to her ex-wife 'cause how bad does that look? Her eyes flicker around but she sees no outing unless Quinn walks through the door right now and realizes that she's actually going to have to talk to Sophie. Shit. "Just waiting for Quinn."

Sophie nods but makes no move to leave. Double shit. "Great. So, how are you? We didn't manage to catch up the other day."

"I'm good," Santana takes a sip of her beer and bobs her head, seeing the expectant look on the other girl's face. For fuck sake, she's not rude. She has to ask how Sophie is too. "And you?"

"I can see you're doing well. You're still as beautiful as ever," Sophie smirks, her green eyes drifting down Santana's body. Santana just shudders and bites back a grimace. "And I'm okay, but I think I'm going to break up with Noah."

"That sucks."

Not picking up on the lack of disinterest in this whole conversation, Sophie shifts forward and crosses one leg over the other. The dress donning her body is short and doesn't leave much to the imagination, but Santana has zero interest. She doesn't even find Sophie remotely attractive. An ugly personality ruins a pretty face.

"Yeah... I think―" Sophie swallows and licks her lips, finger running around the rim of her glass. "I think I made a mistake." Her eyes flit to Santana and Santana stills. "With him, I mean."

Santana holds back the breath of relief. "Oh, yeah?"

"Definitely."

Sophie shuffles to the very edge of her seat, her knees bumping Santana's and slipping between her legs. Seriously, she might as well be on Santana's fucking lap right now. Her hand slips down from her glass and fingers crawl towards the bottle, the pads just brushing over Santana's pinky near the bottom of the bottle. Santana doesn't jerk back, too focused on not scoffing at her ex-wife in disgust.

"I made a lot of mistakes," Sophie whispers, biting her lip and looking up at the other girl.

And Santana's head reels back, knowing exactly what her ex-wife is suggesting. She narrows her eyes and clenches her jaw, teeth grinding together. Is Sophie serious right now? Her mouth pops open to ask the other girl that exact same question but then Quinn's stepping up to their sides and raising both eyebrows, hazel eyes flitting between them.

"Well, what do we have here?" The blonde says, eying up Sophie in disgust. Only Santana can see the disgust in her expression though.

"Quinn, you remember Sophie, right?" Santana says, realizing how close she and her ex-wife were and shuffles away, clearing her throat.

"I do," Quinn directs towards Santana with a hard, _what are you doing? _expression. She then turns to Sophie and flashes a too-sweet smile. "Hi, Sophie," she draws out, showing her disapproval through her tone.

Sophie sees it and her eyes flicker away, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. And Santana bites back a smile, knowing how intimidating Quinn can be at times and just lowers her head, nails picking at the label of her beer. There's a little awkward silence before someone clears their throat and she peers up to find Sophie standing now, smoothing down her dress and shooting a smile to Santana.

"I should be going," she says. "Bye, Santana."

Santana sucks in her lips and raises her chin a little instead of speaking and her ex-wife walks away. But then a sharp smack is delivered to the side of her head and she whips her head around, eyes narrowing into a glare at her friend who's taking Sophie's seat as she rubs her head. "What the fuck, Fabray?"

"So you're buddy-buddy with your ex-wife now?"

"She was here when I walked in and came up to me."

"And you didn't tell her to go away?"

Santana rolls her eyes, taking a long pull of her beer. "I didn't want to be rude."

"What did she say then?" Quinn points down to Santana's beer when Barney looks around and nods.

"Nothing of much interest," Santana answers truthfully. "She just asked how I was and told me she was going to break up with Puckerman." Quinn throws her a look and she lifts both eyebrows in her direction. "What?"

"Your ex-wife _conveniently_ comes to the same bar that you've been coming to for years, _conveniently _runs into you and then tells you that she's breaking up with her boyfriend?" Santana just stares, blankly. "Seriously, Lopez? Does none of that seem a bit odd?"

Even though she shrugs, Santana has to admit, yeah, it does seem odd.

"Are you going to tell Britt you saw her?"

"No," the answer is immediately and Santana just takes another sip of beer.

"Santana!"

She flinches twists to her friend, getting a little fed up of this ear-bashing. "Look, Q, I don't see why I should have to tell Britt. It'll just put more stress her, which means more stress on the baby and fuck, you know what her hormones are like. They're all over the place." She lifts her shoulders like it'll help her point. "It'll just be an unnecessary argument."

Quinn's eyes widen and she stares shocked at Santana, but she can see she's completely serious and just lets out a loud exhale, grabbing the beer that Barney slides over to her and taking a long sip of it. "It's a mistake," she says, hushed and mostly into the bottle.

Santana shrugs. "I'm just thinking of Britt."

"I just hope you're right."

Santana just keeps drinking.

* * *

**Part 2 coming tomorrow...**

**But leave a comment to say what you think so far?**


	7. When The Past and Future Collide (2)

**Title: **When The Past and The Future Collide (2/2)  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Word Count: **4.1k  
**Summary: **Everything's perfect, and nothing can ruin their day. Well, that's what Santana thinks until they run into a certain couple. Part of the _If If Hurts This Much _universe!

* * *

A few nights later she's coming back from work and stops by Mr Chow's to pick up dinner.

And guess who she runs into.

She's barely got her foot in the store when someone calls her name and she lifts her head to find Sophie leaning against the counter, Chinese menu in hand and a smile on her face. Santana almost rolls her eyes and steps back outside to look to the heavens and ask God why he has this vendetta on her, but instead forces a smile and joins her by the counter. The sooner she collects her order, the sooner she can get out of here.

"Fancy seeing you here," Sophie draws, that twinkle in her eyes that was there the first night they met, and consequently, slept together.

Santana bobs her head and peers over the counter to find one of the workers, but they're in the kitchen apparently. Fuck.

"Well this is _my _local Chinese," she says in reply, still looking for someone to give her her order. Can't they just hurry up or something?

"Good to see something things don't change," comes from beside her softly and she turns to look at her ex-wife, trying to figure out what that meant. But truthfully she doesn't care so she lets her eyes drift away again, showing just that. Luckily a little Chinese woman comes out just at that moment, and Santana tells her the order she rang up about ten minutes ago and the woman disappears quickly, returning with a bag full of food and a smile on her face as Santana hands her a twenty dollar bill, telling her to keep the change.

Santana turns to walk out when she sees Sophie right in front of her, staring at her. She gulps. "I've gotta get going now. Home," she says, bobbing her head. "To my wife." She makes a point to say Brittany's her wife but Sophie doesn't stop staring. "Because Britt's coming home from a doctor's appointment as she's pregnant, and she's got one hell of an appetite now."

Sophie seems completely oblivious to the hints Santana's dropping in and tilts her head, smiling. She reaches forward just as Santana twists, and rubs her arm gently. "Bye. I'll see you around," she squeezes Santana's arm and flutters her lashes, something that always used to make Santana weak at the knees but now makes her want to hurl.

Santana forces a smile and walks out the store.

* * *

She barely manages to set the Chinese down on the coffee table before there's a knock at the door. Her back instantly straightens and she whips her head around, wondering who's at the door. But then she relaxes, eyebrows and shoulders lowering as she figures Brittany must have forgotten her keys again. This pregnancy is making her do that quite a lot, actually, probably since she's focused on other things.

Except when she opens the door, she doesn't find Brittany there.

"Sophie?"

Sophie stares up at her, hands nervously wringing in front of her. "Hey."

Santana's eyes flicker down the street. "Did you follow me home?" She asks, knowing it's the only way Sophie would know where she lived.

"Yes, but I had to," Sophie says, stepping over the threshold of the house and forcing Santana to take a step back. "I need to tell you something."

The sentences "Brittany will be home soon" and "I don't want you here" balance on the end of Santana's tongue but Sophie speaks before they can even come out.

"I made a mistake with Puck," she announces, eyes glistening with honesty as her hands reach for Santana. "I should have never cheated on you."

Santana shakes her head, eyes narrowing as she moves away from the touch. Why is Sophie telling her this? She doesn't give a damn. "Sophie..."

"I'm still in love with you and I want you back," her ex-wife says. "I'll do anything, Santana. Please."

She's begging, Santana can tell but there's nothing inside of her that's even feeling remotely bad. She doesn't care. She has Brittany. She's in love with Brittany and they're having a baby together and she and Sophie are _never _going to happen again. There's no way in hell it will and she wants to say that. She wants to tell Sophie she has no chance but the words just don't seem to go from her brain to her mouth and she ends up just staring blankly.

But then the physical barrier is broken and Sophie's cupping Santana's cheek, spurring her into action and slapping away the hand against her skin.

"No, Sophie," she hisses, not quite believing that this is actually happen. "It's not gonna happen."

Sophie's never been one to give up though and moves closer to Santana, pleading with tear filled eyes and a quivering lower lip. "Please, Santana. You have to. I love you." Santana almost laughs but doesn't and ends up shaking her head. "I know you loved me, so you can again. It was me before her. Remember that."

Until now, the only thing Santana felt was slight sympathy because Sophie just looked so damn pathetic, coming to her door―her and her _wife's _door―and pleading for her to take her back, but now she's just pissed. Pissed because Sophie not only comes to Santana and Brittany's house, but she declares her love that apparently still exists, asks her to take her back and then reminds her that she made the mistake of choosing Sophie over Brittany way back. Anger flares through her and her expression contorts with disgust. How fucking dare Sophie do any of that?

"No, you don't understand, Sophie," Santana bites, heat bubbling up her throat. "I love _Brittany. _She's my soulmate and the only woman I've ever truly loved. I don't want you, Sophie. I don't love you."

It's harsh, and mean, but it's the truth and Santana knows Sophie won't settle for anything other than that. She wouldn't accept anything but that. And luckily, Sophie doesn't respond or try to convince her with any other declarations, just bites down on her lower lip and shrinks down, in the way she always used to do when she wanted to make Santana feel bad. But it won't work, not this time.

Except apparently she knows that, because the next thing Santana's aware of, lips, cold and chapped are pressing against hers and Sophie's clutching at her face, kissing her as hard as she can. It takes a second or two to register what the fuck's going on but when Santana does, the anger that was flaring over her skin explodes and it feels like she's on fire as she snaps into action and goes to shove Sophie off her.

But Sophie's already being yanked back and is letting out a small yelp in Santana's face, one of her hands grabbing at something behind her. And as Santana opens her eyes, she realizes what's pulling Sophie back: Brittany.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Brittany screeches, eyes wide and pissed as she lets go of Sophie's collar and allows her to fall to the floor.

Sophie hits the floor hard, her body clunking against the wood and she winces visibly as Brittany gravitates to stand in front of Santana. But slowly, the girl on the floor pushes up with quaking arms and picks herself up, dusting down her jeans and baring her teeth at the blonde. "Before you came back," Sophie starts in a low hiss, eyes narrowing at hardening as they lock onto Brittany. "_I _was what she wanted."

A smirk comes onto Brittany's face, but she's still pissed off. Her arms are shaking by her side and Santana raises both eyebrows as she takes in the state of her wife. She really is trying not to find angry and possessive Brittany hot but _fuck, _it really is a turn on.

"But you're not now, are you?" The blonde spits, cocking her hip out to the side and lifting an eyebrow. "So get the hell away from my wife."

"I was still there before you, and I always _will _have been," Sophie's eyes flash to Santana, lingering a little too long. Brittany sees it and Santana grabs her wife before she lurches and smacks Sophie. With the hormones the pregnancy is bringing, Santana really wouldn't put it past her wife to do some serious damage. "No matter what you do, I will have been there first and I want her back, so I'm going to do everything in order for that to happen."

Brittany doesn't start yelling in the way Santana thought she would, instead she takes a daunting step forward and towers over Sophie. "You're wrong. I was always there. Maybe we didn't realize it but it was us way before you two, but it still counts." Santana bites back the smirk at the sound of her wife like this. It's really fucking hot. "So if you think you have another chance you really are stupider than you look."

Sophie doesn't seem fazed by the height difference and lifts her chin, shoulders squaring. "She'll take me back."

Santana scoffs and know she has to cut in. This is just fucking stupid. "I'm not going to take you back, Sophie," she says, stepping closer to Brittany. "Ever."

"You will."

Unexpectedly, Brittany actually _laughs _at Santana's ex-wife, throwing her head back and succeeding in thoroughly pissing Sophie off if her snarl is anything to go by. "Honey," the blonde says, softening her voice until it's nothing but patronizing. "You can try and get her back, you really can, but it's not going to work. Whereas you're going to be a constant reminder of what she had, I'm going to be a constant reminder of what she _has, _and what she's always wanted. You were just another stepping stone to find me and the sooner you realize that, the better."

The amount of confidence Brittany says that in makes Santana stare dreamily at her wife. Fuck, it's so incredible to hear Brittany say that she knows how much Santana loves her. Sure, they tell each other how much they love each other all the time, but hearing Brittany be so damn sure that she loves her is just... It's amazing. A smile graces her lips as she gravitates closer to her wife.

A sharp scoff comes from Sophie and she chuckles, dryly. "You really think she's still going to want you when you're as big as a house?" She asks, shaking her head. "You think she's going to want you when you're popping out a kid and she's getting no sleep?" Narrowed green eyes flicker to Santana. "You really think she's going to stay around for that? This is _Santana _we're talking about."

"Yeah," Brittany lifts an eyebrow in Santana's direction, takes a quick peek at her then glances back to Sophie and nods with complete certainty. "I have no doubt about her. She loves me and she loves our baby and she'd never leave either of us."

Santana's heart must expand at least ten sizes as she listens to her wife. Her feet shift forward and she comes up behind Brittany, inhaling her magnificent scent and resting both palms low on Brittany's bump, fingers pressing lightly.

"You got that right," she whispers, only for her wife's ears. "Only you."

Blue eyes slide to her and Santana's smile is back as Brittany's neck twists, but then it's like she's suddenly reminded that Sophie's in the room and she squeezes tanned hands before stepping out of the grasp and toward Sophie, towering over her again. Her eyes are hard and dark, her nostrils flaring, and her mouth is clenched, perfect, white teeth bared as she glares down at the brunette before her, and Santana can't deny, she's finding her wife really fucking hot right now.

"You see? You heard it from her," the blonde spits and lifts her chin, knowing she's won. "So if you ever come near my wife again, I will make _personally _sure that you never see the light of day again. Got it?" A fair eyebrow cocks to emphasize her question and Santana almost explodes as arousal surges through her, but she doesn't focus on that and instead smirks at her ex-wife.

And Sophie's eyes dart between them, and Santana knows she's trying to keep face with the hard expression but she also knows Sophie probably wants to cry right now, accepting that she's been defeated. Seconds later, that's only confirmed when Sophie lets out an angry huff, shakes her head and then turns away, stumbles down the stairs and storms off down the street, scowl still pasted on her face.

* * *

As soon as Brittany shuts the door and faces her wife again, Santana lurches forward and grabs pale cheeks, bringing their mouths together in a kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, and neither of them carry the same, gentle finesse in it that they're both fully capable of, but that's not really the focus right now. Santana's almost overwhelmed with the arousal she feels at the sight of her wife not only pissed off, but being incredibly possessive and certain of Santana's love for her.

She slides her hands down away from Brittany's face and smooths her palms over her bump before gripping her hips. With the hold she has, she leads them backwards towards the bedroom, their lips still pressed together and tongues still stroking over each other. Pale hands clench into her hair and Santana moans as Brittany's teeth nip at her lip, pulling it back before soothing it with a sweep of her tongue.

Arousal and heat punches through her and when they finally reach the bedroom, Brittany's grinning into Santana's mouth and breaking away, smirking at her with dark blue eyes as she pushes Santana back towards the bed, quickly ridding herself of her jeans before straddling her. Tanned hands fly to long legs, and Santana takes in as much smooth skin as she can as they kiss again, this time softer, gentler. It frustrating in the best way possible, and she responds with a breathy moan and shamelessly grinds up into her wife, her bulge aching as it strains against her pants.

Brittany groans as Santana bucks her hips, and it becomes increasingly obvious that they're still wearing way too many clothes. So she takes matters into her own hands and sits up, attaching her lips to pale neck as her hands slide up Brittany's top, pulling away to tug the the clothing off before running her tongue down the ridge of a pale collarbone. Fingers slide into her hair, tangling at the roots and she kisses down Brittany's chest, her hands unsnapping the hook of the blonde's bra and flinging the fabric off to the room, before her tongue flicks over the soft flesh around her nipple.

Santana smirks as her wife pushes her chest into her mouth, and a pale hand grabs onto the fabric of her shirt covering her shoulder blades and tugs impatiently until she releases Brittany's nipple with a pop and leans back to let the shirt of her back come off. It's thrown somewhere in the room, her bra following, but she doesn't care because she's straight back to lavishing pale breasts with lips and tongue and Brittany's grinding down against her.

"Santana..." the blonde moans, reaching between them to unzip Santana's jeans, slip beneath the waistband of her boxers and grab at her. Her hips jerk, and a muffled moan escapes her lips. The heat is too much and as Brittany's hand strokes her up and down, she knows if they don't get down to it quickly she's not going to last long.

So she slides her hands down to pale thighs, grips them gently and flips both of them, setting back on her knees as her thumbs hook into the waistband of her jeans and push down, her erection springing free. Blue eyes widen and darken further, and Santana smirks as she shifts to push her jeans off the bottom of her legs, kicking them off the bed until they drop to the floor with a clunk.

Then she's back between long legs, hands pressing into the mattress beside Brittany's hips to keep her torso from pressing against the bump and they're kissing again. It's hot, but sweet, and her hand grazes down her ribs, slipping beneath the blondes panties to slide through hot flesh. Brittany arches, head snapping back and Santana grins as she lowers herself, momentarily removing her hand to grab at her cock and press it to Brittany's clit, earning a sharp gasp.

The noise that comes from Brittany's throat is so fucking hot, and Santana knows she can't wait any longer. Tanned hands slip down to grab at pale ones, and she pulls them up so they both sitting up, except confusion etches across the blondes face and Santana can't help but grin at how her wife can be adorable and so, _so _sexy at the same time. It's the best kind of paradox.

"Trust me," she whispers, kissing Brittany softly. "Get on your knees and turn around."

Brittany hesitates for a second, but then does as she's told and flips around, Santana shuffling back until she's staring down at Brittany, her hands and knees pressing into the mattress and glistening center exposed to her. She licks her lips on instinct, eyes locked firmly at the space between Brittany's legs and she shifts forward, leaning down to trail a path of kisses down the blondes spine as she grabs herself and strokes slowly. Her tongue flicks out and Brittany shudders beneath her, fingers tightening into the comforter, but Santana just smirks.

She'll never tire of teasing Brittany.

"Santana," Brittany gasps, and Santana can tell by her voice she needs more.

And as always, she's only willing to oblige so she pulls back, one hand falling to Brittany's hip, and the other lining up her pulsating member, the tip running through slick heat. She swears the feeling is so powerful every time, but she doesn't dwell and bites down on her bottom lip, sliding into Brittany, almost losing it right then and there, buried deep inside her wife.

"Fuck," she groans, falling forward to press her forehead between Brittany's shoulder blades. With this position, she hits the spot that drives Brittany crazy and even though the tight heat coating her is fucking amazing, she takes a deep breath and steadies herself to move.

She starts slowly, shifting her hips and drawing out until only the tip of her cock is still inside, and pushes back in, repeating it and keeping the slow pace. Then she twists in slow, deliberate circles, hips grinding down and stopping the second she's sheathed within her wife. A moan comes from one of them, but she doesn't know who and instead keeps thrusting, rolling her body and sliding one hand up to Brittany's breast, her fingers tweaking a nipple as the other hand slips round and down, fingertips rolling over the pad of Brittany's clit.

Brittany pushes back into her, her ass fitting into the curve of Santana's hips and she just knows that's a sign to pick up the pace a little. With a kiss to smooth skin, Santana pulls her hips back, sliding out halfway and pushes back in, quickening her thrusts a little but not at the speed she knows Brittany wants. Their hips rock together, moans and squeaks tumbling from their mouths and Santana begins to speed up, sliding in and out a little faster and squeezing her eyes shut when her wife clenches around her.

Then the tempo is set and Santana works a little harder and faster, the pressure building deep in her spine and pleasure almost maxing out inside of her. The hand on Brittany's clit quickens, the circles shifting from slow and wide to fast and small, and Brittany's arms buckle as her first orgasm punches through her, her forearms now pressing to the mattress and forehead following it. She shudders, clenching tightly but Santana doesn't relent her thrusts, just slows herself, pushing deeper and holding still as Brittany spasms around her.

It's so hot, listening to and feeling the effect she has on her wife, and the tanned hand on a pale breast slides to Brittany's breastbone, Santana adds a bit of pressure until Brittany gets it and sits up straight, her back pressing into Santana's front. Still buried deep inside, Santana begins to lift her hips, her arm encircling Brittany's waist, hand resting against her baby bump whilst her other still works between Brittany's legs and she feels herself getting closer and closer to the edge, their hips still moving together perfectly.

She pokes her tongue out and licks a path up Brittany's neck, closing her mouth around her pulse point when she gets there and sucks deliberately. Brittany breathes hard and heavy, one hand reaching behind to clutch the nape of Santana's neck and the other sliding over the tanned arm covering the bump to keep them pressed together.

"Oh my God..." Brittany groans, head tipping back and eyes fluttering shut. A small squeak escapes her lips at one deep thrust and then she's coming again. "Santan―"

Her second orgasm rockets through her, and it pushes Santana over the edge. The tension in the low of her back coils and springs free, and they both begin to shudder, limbs quaking and shaky breaths escaping their lips as Brittany clenches around Santana as Santana thrusts in deep, spilling herself into her wife. Her fingers tighten against Brittany's and she rocks them slowly, her eyes clenching shut so tight white spots form behind her eyes and her hand slides up from Brittany's clit to join her other arm, wrapping securely around the blonde and holding them together as they both come down from their high.

* * *

Later, they're back in the living room, both dressed in some sort of clothing, boxers and a tank top for Santana and a pair of Santana's boxers and a bra for Brittany.

They've eaten their cold Chinese after reluctantly leaving the bedroom―the baby demanded food―and so now they're just relaxing, Brittany with her legs propped up on the coffee table and Santana with her head in her lap on a pillow, eyes focused intently on the baby bump. Her nose is almost touching it and tanned fingers are tracing over smooth skin, eyes almost crossing due to the close proximity.

This is has become something they do recently, since Brittany's become visibly bigger, and Santana can't explain why she loves doing it, but it's just something about being close to the life growing inside of her wife, the life that's half hers and half Brittany's. The thought still makes her heart flutter and even now, she can't help but smile and lean forward to press her lips to the bump.

But then she feels something. It's small but it's definitely there and her head draws back, eyes growing wide as they lock onto the bump. She looks up to her wife, and blue eyes are staring down at her with the exact same impression. They stare at eachother for a long moment before Santana finds the words to speak.

"Uh, Britt―"

"Do it again," Brittany demands and Santana relents, leaning forward to kiss smooth skin again.

And it happens. The same thing fucking happens again and Santana's mouth drops open, eyes darting up to meet teary blue ones staring straight back at her.

"Did the―"

"He kicked," bursts from Brittany's mouth and Santana chokes on the breath she takes, processing her wife's words.

"_He?_" It comes out high pitched and squeaky, but Brittany just bites down on her lip, smiles through it and nods slowly.

"The doctor's appointment," she says, lowly, almost like she's scared to tell Santana. "They did an ultrasound and it's a boy." Santana just stares, jaw slack and eyes wide. "We've got a little man on the way, San. That's our son."

The joy, the excitement, the happiness that flushes through Santana is so overwhelming she almost doesn't move. She almost doesn't show it but then her brain kicks into gear and she bolts upright, sliding her hand around Brittany's neck and kissing her through a smile. They giggle into the kiss and pull away, both of them glancing down to Brittany's bump and marveling at it before tipping their foreheads together and looking deeply into each others eyes.

They're having a boy, and it's going to be the most beautiful baby boy to have ever existed.

* * *

**I know some of you thought this was unnecessary angst, but I don't really care :) I enjoyed writing it and others enjoy reading it. So I'm not gonna apologize for that.**


	8. The Memories Soon Fade

**Title: **The Memories Soon Fade (But They Can Never Be Erased)  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Word Count: **5.6k  
**Summary: **The moment the nurse says "accident," Santana's mind goes blank. Part of the _If If Hurts This Much _universe!

**Notes: **This is the fifth prompt, and once again it's thanks to my beta for this! Gotta love her.

* * *

The moment the nurse says "accident," Santana's mind goes blank.

She's sitting in a meeting, and she probably shouldn't have picked up in the first place but for some reason she felt like she had to pick up the call and now she's frozen, her free hand gripping so tightly onto the desk that her bones might pop from her skin. Several pairs of eyes are on her, the owners of those being incredibly important to Quinn and Santana's careers, but she can't bring herself to care. Memories of her childhood flash through her mind and the breath is ripped straight from her chest.

This can't be happening. Not again.

"_Mrs Lopez-Pierce? Are you still there?"_

Santana manages to break out of her stilled state and jerks to her feet, shoving her chair so far back it hits the glass window three meters behind her. "Which hospital?" She hisses, fingers tightening around her phone. "Which fucking hospital!?" She demands, louder this time and earning several eyebrow raises and shocked expressions.

"_St. Luke's ER down on 10th Avenue," _the nurse hurries, voice quivering.

And Santana doesn't say anything to the nurse or the several people watching her as she bolts out the conference room.

* * *

Santana bursts through the hospital doors, head whipping from side to side, breaths coming out heavy and harsh and eyes frantically searching for the reception. When she finds it she barges past some guy that may or may not be a doctor, not even bothering to respond to his "slow down!" and slaps her palms down on top of the desk top to grab the nurses attention.

"Brittany Lopez-Pierce," she says, trying to calm herself. Being hysterical in a hospital would probably wind up with her being put under a twenty-four hour psychiatric watch.

Except the nurse is on the phone, chatting away, laughing and holding up a hand to Santana who's glaring intently and in the mindset she's in, she really doesn't have the time or patience to wait for this dumb bitch to end her call. She's sure nurses are supposed to be like, working to save people's lives or some shit, and it gets her so fucking angry that she leans over, grabs the phone from the nurses ear and slams it back onto the holder, fury pulsating through her when the hospital worker has the audacity to lift an eyebrow in her direction and yell, "Excuse me!?"

"Brittany Lopez-Pierce," Santana repeats through a hiss, ignoring the nurses question. "Where is she? What room?"

The nurse straightens up and stands, leaning toward Santana as if she's intimidating. "And you are?"

"About two seconds away from losing it so tell me where she is."

"Are you family?"

"She's my pregnant wife," Santana spits, knowing this is standard procedure but hating it. "So where. The hell. Is she?"

The nurse eyes her for a few seconds, probably deliberating whether to call security or not but then she sits back down slowly, and begins clicking away on the computer. Perfectly manicured fingernails tap along the desktop impatiently and all she wants to do is say fuck the room and run around the hospital until she finds Brittany. The logical part of her mind is holding her back though, telling her she'll find her wife quicker if she knows exactly where she is in the hospital and forces her to wait.

"She's in C117."

Santana blinks at her. "Where's that?"

The nurse rolls her eyes and Santana almost leans back over to give the nurse a piece of her mind. Almost. "C Wing. First floor. Room 17," she explains, lowering her head to the computer again, eyes sliding away from Santana. "But I'm afraid you can't go up there as she already has a visitor-"

But by the time the nurse looks up, Santana's already gone.

* * *

Quinn's walking out of Brittany's hospital room when Santana gets there, and she instantly marches up to her, wraps her fists around the lapels of Quinn's jacket and shoves her up against the wall beside the door, eyes burning into hazel ones.

"What the fuck did you do!?" Their faces are so close their noses are almost touching, and Santana's voice is so angry and panicked at the same time that she almost jerks her back in reaction to herself.

"I didn't do shit!" Quinn defends, tugging at the tanned fists pushing into her collarbone. Her eyes narrow and darken and Santana can see the first signs of anger flushing over her friends cheeks, but it doesn't deter her. It does the complete opposite. "Get the fuck off me."

Quinn leans into her to push her off, but Santana's muscles are shaking and she forces her friend back up against the wall, lifting her off the floor slightly. The blonde may be taller than she is, stronger too, but with how she feels right now, with the adrenaline pulsing through her veins, she's sure she could do anything.

"My wife and my fucking unborn _baby _are in a hospital and you're here. That means _you _were involved," she grits out, using her chest to pin her friend to the wall.

"Except your wife was fucking _driving,_" Quinn responds in a low, fevered tone, wrapping her fingers around tanned wrists and using all the strength she has to shove Santana off her. Santana stumbles, but flexes her fingers by her side as she steps back up to the blonde girl, snarling and baring straight, white teeth. "She didn't see the damn car and it ran straight into the back of us. I was in the fucking _passenger seat._"

It doesn't do anything to quell the burning panic and anger inside Santana, though and she lurches forward again, grabbing Quinn's collar and slamming her back up against the wall. She knows how dark she looks, how menacing she's trying to look, but she also knows Quinn's pretty good at seeing straight through her facades and knows she's just scared. That's probably why she's doing this, pinning the blonde against the wall and screeching at her.

"You must have distracted her. You fucking must have. Brittany's a good driver," she pants, breathing heavy as she stares into her best friend's eyes. "She's never had a crash before. Never."

Quinn lowers her head and puts on a dark snarl that Santana's almost envious of. "I didn't fucking do a thing," she whispers, lowly. "And you're not thinking straight. You're scared and I get that, but you better back off before we fall out, Lopez."

She finishes her sentence with a hard shove against Santana's shoulder, and Santana staggers back, fists curling by her side, ready to lash out at her friend because she's really not in the fucking mood for threats but then she hears her name being called from inside the room they're standing by, from Brittany, and all the anger she felt dissolves, replaced with relief and intense fear. Her body deflates and she throws Quinn one last look before darting inside the hospital room, rushing to the bed and almost collapsing down on top of Brittany, knees colliding with the floor and forehead pressing onto the mattress.

Her eyes squeeze shut as she processes the image of Brittany as soon as she entered the room, and her heart throbs loudly against her chest as she thinks about Brittany lying there in a hospital gown, hands resting on her bump and propped up in bed. The image is too familiar for Santana, and she breaks out into a sob, chest wracking as she thinks about her wife. Hands stroke into her hair, nails grazing against her scalp but she doesn't stop crying. It just makes her cry more and she can feel the fabric beneath her face dampening with tears but just doesn't care.

"Baby," comes in a whisper from her wife. "Baby, I'm fine. We're fine."

Brittany's voice is soothing and calm, but Santana can't focus on anything but the memories of her childhood and how today, she could've relived them. She can't think of anything else and it makes her body wrack with sobs. Hot, wet tears trail down her cheeks and her forehead presses into the mattress, and she shakes it because it was so close. It was too close and she just can't think of what could've happened.

"You're_—_You're in a fucking—" deep, shaky breaths interrupt her sentence and she squeezes her eyes shut harder, the tears still flooding from within. "You're in a fucking hospital bed, Britt—"

"They just wanted to keep me to do a few tests," Brittany coos, trying to calm her, but Santana's almost inconsolable. She can't hear this. It's too similar and fuck, they wouldn't be keeping her here without reason. The hands in her hair slide down to her face, stroking of her cheeks until they cradle her jaw and tip her head, blue eyes meeting brown. Brittany's voice is soft but serious as she speaks. "But we're fine, Santana. Me and the baby are fine. I've got a bit of whiplash but being this pregnant they want to make sure everything else is okay."

Santana's eyes immediately drop to the baby bump and she lifts up to press her face into it, lips kissing it through the fabric of Brittany's hospital gown. "Fuck, Britt—I just—I can't—"

"Mrs. Lopez-Pierce?"

Both their heads snap up to the foreign voice calling their name, eyes flicking to the doorway to find a middle-aged man standing there, file in hand and body donning a white coat. His glasses are slightly askew on his nose, and his hair's ruffled like he's just done a sixteen hour shift. Santana narrows her eyes but Brittany sits up immediately, pulling her up onto the bed beside her until they're shoulder to shoulder, hands now clasped between them.

"Yes, Doctor?" Brittany answers, sweetly.

Santana realizes this must be her wife's doctor and twists her head, lifting her arm slightly to wipe her tears away on the sleeve of her shirt. The doctor walks further into the room, his eyes flitting between the two women on the bed, then to Quinn who's sitting in the corner of the room, flicking through a magazine before stopping by their bedside. Santana almost forgot her friend was here, actually.

"Shall we wait for your husband or..." he trails off, eyes moving to Santana who stiffens immediately. But Brittany's hand is squeezing hers gently, thumb rubbing over the back of her knuckles and nodding at the man.

"No, this is my wife," she says with clarity, squeezing tanned fingers. "And the mother of my child."

"Okay," the doctor says, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, then opening the file in hand, eyes skimming over it. "Well then, I can happily tell you all your tests came back clear and both you—" his eyes land on Brittany "—and your baby are healthy." Relief washes through Santana and her body deflates, but Brittany just smiles beside her like she knew all along. "But we've got to process some paperwork and check over the blood test one more time—" brown eyes widen with panic but the doctor jumps in quickly to correct himself "—it's standard procedure in case we've missed anything, but then a nurse will come in and tell you when you're free to leave."

Trying not to burst into tears of joy, Santana lowers her head and lets her eyes close, a relieved breath pushing from her lips and making her chest feel a lot looser and lighter than it did a minute ago. She shakes her head, sucking in her lips and tries to breathe properly. Brittany's okay. The baby is okay. Fuck. She's never been more relieved than she is right now.

Footsteps disappear into the hustle and bustle of the hospital, and when hands cup her cheeks and twist her head, she finds the doctor gone and Brittany staring straight at her.

"See, San, we're fine," her wife says, eyebrows lifting to get Santana to believe her. "We're fine, baby. There's no need to worry."

It should help, but it doesn't, and Santana just ends up crying all over again, leaning into the blonde and burying her face into the crook of her neck, one arm slipping around between Brittany's back and the mattress, and the other draping lightly over the baby bump. Fingers thread through her own over it, and she squeezes her eyes shut again, head still shaking.

"I k-know but—" a shaky breath. "—I ju-just don't know what I-I would've d-done—" the words catch in her throat and she sucks in a whimper, pulling back to look into blue eyes. "If I'd lost b-both of y-you," she whimpers, mind reeling back.

All she can think about how twenty one years ago, things didn't go as well. How the doctor wasn't announcing good news when he approached her and her mom. She remembers it and the link between how this situation, here with Brittany and her baby, could've gone the same way. The mere thought makes her sob harder, but even through her blurry vision she can see Brittany looking between her eyes, past them and into her emotions, and she just knows that Brittany can see all of this. She can see there's a deeper meaning behind her tears, her reactions, but Santana just bites on her lower lip, eyes flicking towards Quinn in the corner of the room and silently pleads that Brittany won't say anything until they're alone.

And because Brittany knows Santana better than anyone, better than herself, she gives her a small nod and presses their lips together, telling her with a kiss that she won't say anything. They don't' kiss for long, mostly because Santana can barely suck in a breath without Brittany's mouth on her own, but it's soft and sweet, and she squeezes her eyes shut and lingers when her wife pulls away, stroking away the drying tears from her cheeks.

"Don't think about it," Brittany whispers, suddenly by her ear. "We're fine. He's fine," she continues, grabbing a tanned hand and pressing it to her stomach. The baby reacts instantly, kicking against Santana's hand and through the tears, Santana manages a chuckle, sniffling and glancing down to the bump. "See?" Brittany says, eyes shining as they look into brown ones. "He's fine. Maybe a little pissed that you threatened Aunt Quinn," she jokes. "But other than that, he's fine."

With her free hand, Santana wipes her nose and her cheeks with her sleeve and nods, eyes stinging. She wipes at them next and licks her lips, tasting the salt from her tears, before puffing out her cheeks and exhaling heavily. Blue eyes roam over her face, and she watches them intently until she sees Brittany cock her head to the side and lift an eyebrow in Quinn's direction. Oh, yeah, she needs to apologize.

Putting up her walls again, Santana looks to her blonde friend in the corner. "Q?" She calls out and hazel eyes snap up to her. "Sorry about... the hall thing," she almost rolls her eyes. She's not sorry. She was pissed and upset. Hysterical even. Her twenty eight week pregnant wife had just been in a car accident and was in hospital. Santana had every right to let it out on the person in the damn car with her and she doesn't regret it, even now. "I just lost my shit."

Brittany slaps her bicep and covers her stomach, warning her with wide eyes. "Don't curse in front of the baby," she chastises, and Santana giggles.

"Babe, he's not even born yet. He probably doesn't even have ears."

"Actually at sixteen weeks, his ears were nearly at their correct person and at eighteen weeks, his ears not only began to stand out on the sides of his head, but he began to hear," Brittany informs her.

Dark eyebrows shoot up. "Have you been catching up on your reading?" Santana asks, smiling with disbelief. She still can't believe that to this day people used to call Brittany stupid in high school.

"Of course," Brittany fires back, grinning. "And I've put the books in the second drawer of your bedside table so you can too."

Santana's heart expands and she lets out a long sigh, leaning forward to nuzzle their noses together. "I love you."

Blue eyes sparkle. "I love you, too."

Someone makes a retching sound behind them and Santana instantly whips her head around, narrowing her eyes into a glare. Quinn's sitting there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised like she's trying to remind them she's still here.

"Okay, yeah, you love each other and your baby's fine, I'm happy for you and glad that my head's not going to be put on a spike, but can I go home now?" The blonde asks. "I've got a few stitches I need to explain to my fiancee," she says, pointing to her forehead where a butterfly stitching lies by her hairline.

Santana chuckles lightly and shakes her head. "Berry's gonna freak," she says, knowingly.

The instant Rachel sees Quinn she's going to jump on the overreaction train and yell at Quinn before apologizing profusely and babying her with kisses and—ew, gross, no. Actually Santana doesn't want to know how Rachel's going to look after her. But she's still thankful that Quinn was here for Brittany when Santana wasn't, so she rolls her eyes and reaches into her jeans pocket, fishing out a wad of dollar bills. Quinn eyes her suspiciously, fair brows pushing together and Santana rolls her eyes again, licking her fingertips before flicking through the notes.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asks, slowly.

Santana grabs two five dollar bills and folds them in half, holding them out. "I'm paying for your cab home. You know, like as an apology for shoving you up against a wall."

Behind her, Brittany rubs a hand over her lower back and she smiles. Apologizing was a good move.

"Damn straight you're paying for my cab," Quinn jokes, stretching her arm out and curling her hand towards Santana. "Gimme then."

Santana arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow and shakes her head. She doesn't want to leave Brittany's side. It's kind of pathetic and it's not like she's walking out the room to give Quinn the cash, but she just doesn't feel comfortable with leaving her wife. Not now she knows she's safe. As far as Santana's concerned, as long as she's by her side, Brittany will be safe. Had she been in the car with Brittany, or even driving, maybe Brittany wouldn't have been in the accident. So she's staying put.

And it seems Brittany knows this because she leans up, her lips brushing the shell of a tanned ear. "Honey, you can go over to Quinn. I'm not going anywhere."

If she wasn't being so protective, she would probably do it, but instead she grunts and shakes her head. "If she wants the money she can come get it."

Over the other side of the room, Quinn rolls her eyes, clicks her tongue and pushes up using the arms of the chair. She heads over, grabs the bills from Santana's hand and then spreads them out, looking down at them quizzically. "Only ten dollars?" She says, meeting brown eyes. She's joking, but Santana's not exactly in the mood for jokes. "Whoa, jheeze, I was just kidding," she adds, backing away with a grin.

Except Santana know she kind of isn't, and that logically, it might cost more than ten dollars to get back so she throws her friend another ten dollar bill and scowls. "Now leave before I take it back and you have to walk home."

Quinn grins, runs back up to her and kisses her on the cheek, doing the same to Brittany before skipping out the room with a wink.

Santana just settles back into Brittany's side and throws an arm over her shoulder.

* * *

A little while later and they're still at the hospital.

Santana's still perched on the bed, but the side of her hip is pressing against Brittany's, one of her hands is settled over the baby bump and the other is absently toying with Brittany's hand, lying beside her body. They're not speaking, and they haven't for the past ten minutes or so, but they're staring into each others and that's enough. They don't need words and that's one of the things Santana loves most about her wife. Among a million other things.

But then as Santana brushes her thumb over Brittany's belly, she feels a small push beneath her palm and giggles. The baby just kicked again and her eyes flicker down, before rising once more to meet smiling blue ones. They both giggle and Santana can't quite believe that she's having a baby. It's still so surreal.

"Hey, San?"

Santana lifts both eyebrows and smiles at her wife. "Yeah, babe?"

"Can I ask you something?"

She nods, noticing the way Brittany ducks her head and focuses all her attention on their hands and fingers fiddling with each other. The blonde doesn't respond for a moment so Santana just lifts her hand to her lips and dusts a kiss across her knuckles, prompting her to continue.

"You know earlier?" Brittany asks, eyes flicking up. "When you were upset?" Santana's lips twitches in recognition of the memory. "Why was that? I mean, apart from the obvious. It just_—_It seemed deeper than me and the baby."

Santana stays still and silent for a long while. She knew this was going to come up sooner rather than later, and don't get her wrong, it's not like she doesn't want to tell Brittany because she does. She wants Brittany to know everything about her and come to think of it, this must be the _only _thing Brittany doesn't know about. She literally can't think of a single thing that her wife doesn't know. They did grow up together, after all.

Anyway, it's not that she doesn't want to tell Brittany, it's just that it's hard to. Before she met Brittany, it was like there was no color in her life, and the moment she saw her, across that basketball court, it's like there was a burst of light. A burst of energy and things were no longer gray and dull, they were beautiful and full of color.

But there were things that made her life gray before. There were things that drained the color and this is one of them.

She sucks in a deep, quivering breath and lifts her vision to meet blue eyes. Here she goes. "It was the year before I met you, and it was just like any other night. I was sitting in front of the TV with my mom in the armchair behind me, and she got a call." She pauses and licks her lips, breathing out through pursed lips. "I only remember that she got a call because it was my favorite episode of Scooby Doo on TV and I couldn't hear what Shaggy was saying over my mom's voice."

Brittany offers a light tipped smile, a small chuckle too, and Santana feels the atmosphere around them lift. Brittany always knows what she needs.

"Anyway, I don't_—_I don't remember what she said, but I remember turning around with my little, green dinosaur toy and found my mom staring at the wall opposite with such a pale face. I remember thinking that maybe she'd turned into a ghost or something," she swallows and smiles, rubbing her thumb across the back of Brittany's hand. "But she hadn't obviously, and the next moment the phone was on the floor, and she picking me up and we were rushing into a cab."

Clearing her throat, Santana glances up and sees blue eyes fixated on her. Brittany's listening to intently and all she wants to do is lean across to kiss her wife, to say thank you into her lips, but she'll lose track of the story. She'll lose focus and confidence so she just needs to get through this.

"I remember asking her where we were going and she told me abuelo had hurt himself. I offered to give him a Pokemon band aid to make it better, but she didn't smile and that was the moment I knew something was wrong." Her eyebrows pinch together, eyes squinting as they look off into the distance, the memory coming back to her so clearly. "Then... Then we got to the hospital and she sat me down on a plastic chair, and went over to a nurse. The nurse had the brightest ginger hair I'd ever seen," she recalls. "I thought she was on fire for a second."

A light laugh comes from her mouth, and Brittany's follows seconds later. They keep it going for a few seconds, but then Santana knows what bit comes next and it completely dies. She shifts on the bed, tucking one leg beneath her and sucks her lips into her mouth.

"The doctor went over to my mom next, and I just watched her break. She crumbled and fell to the floor and no-one came and told me anything but," she takes in a deep breath and clenches her jaw. "I just knew." Her eyes flicker up to meet blue ones. "I didn't feel him anymore. It was like something just... faded inside of me. Like the last bit of color vanished out my life," she shrugs and drops her vision back to their hands, where long pale fingers are brushing over her palm, mapping out her skin. "I know I was only six, but... he was my best friend. I was closer to him that I was with my parents."

Brittany lifts her hand and presses a kiss to her palm, where her fingers had just been, and it breaks something inside of Santana. She straightens her back, builds up her walls again and tries to regain some of the confidence she usually carries. There's not really any point, Brittany can see straight through it, but it makes Santana feel a little better and so the blonde doesn't say anything.

"I don't know," Santana continues, swallowing against the thick layer coating her throat. "Today just... It just brought back those memories."

"I'm sorry, baby," her wife finally says, pulling her towards her until she can cup a tanned cheek, rub her thumb over the skin there.

Santana shakes her head, looking away. "It's not your fault, Britt. Sometimes things just happen," she lifts her shoulder. "But today just... It just took me back to then and there was this image in my head that just_—_that I'd get here and..." she doesn't finish, just lets her words sink in and create their own conclusion and Brittany's hands slide out of hers, coming up to her shoulders to pull her down for a hug. She buries her face into the crook of her wife's neck, nuzzling and squeezing her eyes shut as her hands slip around her wife's waist, palms settling low on her back.

They stay like that for a while, just sinking into one another and breathing in each others scents, and for the duration of their embrace, Santana feels like she's grounded. She doesn't feel like everything's too much and that all the bad memories of flushing over her. She doesn't feel like she's about to break because she was that worried. Instead she feels safe, and warm, and her head turns to press a soft kiss to the base of Brittany's neck.

Then she hums out slowly and snuggles back into her wife again, whispering, "I love you," into her ear.

Hands stroke over her back and she can feel the smile against her temple as Brittany drops a kiss there, the words, "I love you, too," following only a second later.

* * *

The nurse comes in five minutes later and they break apart, glancing up to the nurse who looks away, knowing she's just interrupted a moment. Brittany giggles and Santana smiles, kisses her wife softly before sitting back on the bed and patting a pale hand, waiting to hear the verdict on how long they're supposed to be here for. The nurse tells them they're free to leave now, and reassures them for the second time that everything's perfectly fine with both the mother and the baby, and Santana breathes out another deep sigh of relief.

They begin packing up, Santana handing Brittany some clothes and moving to close the door so no-one sees the blonde change, but as the door clicks, Brittany speaks for the first time since the story of Santana's grandfather.

"What was his name?"

Santana walks back to the bed and perches on the side. "Who?"

Brittany rids herself of the hospital gown and brown eyes linger around the swell of her stomach, taking in Brittany's new curves and the rounded edges she never had before. It's not like she hasn't seen her wife naked since she was pregnant, but this is just... This is something else, and she knows she's smiling like an idiot but who cares?

"Your abuelo."

She wipes the smile from her face, eyes darting up to meet knowing blue ones and a smirk, realizing she was just staring unabashedly.

"Elijah," she responds, shrugging when a fair eyebrow cocks.

She doesn't care that she was staring. She's allowed to. It's one of the perks of being married.

Brittany steps into her maternity jeans and pulls them up her legs, allowing the cotton support to rest comfortably below her bump. Her hand falls to her stomach when she's done, and she cocks her head to the side, her blue eyes clouding over with thoughts. Santana just stays silent, watching her wife and figuring out what she's doing and she only stops when Brittany smiles down at the bump, strokes it twice—something she's started doing since she found out she can balance a bowl of cereal on the top of it—and then resumes changing.

She's always done little weird things like that, gone off inside her own mind to daydream and whatnot, so Santana doesn't think much of it.

Well, not until she hears three words that makes her head momentarily suspend off her neck as she whips her head up that fast.

"Little baby Elijah."

The breath catches in her throat and she chokes on it, tears already forming in her eyes as they meet bright blue ones. There's a little bit of uncertainty flashing behind them and Santana wants to say that she's choked up for a good reason but she can't seem to get any words out. So instead, she steps toward her wife and settles her hands on the swell of Brittany's stomach, thumbs rubbing in circular motions.

"What?" She finally pants, swallowing against a thickening throat. "What did you say?"

"I said..." Brittany pauses and chews on her lower lip for a second. "I said little baby Elijah," she repeats slowly, unsure if she's said the wrong thing. "Like, I thought maybe—if you wanted to—we could name... him—" she lowers a hand over a tanned one and pushes down lightly "—after... your abuelo."

So many tears flood to Santana's eyes she has to shake her head to rid some, not wanting to remove her hands from Brittany or their baby. She's so overwhelmed right now, so fucking overwhelmed and she feels so much love for both Brittany and the baby that she could cry. In fact, she's pretty much crying at the moment, but fuck, she's just so happy.

"Are—are you serious?"

"I am," Brittany says, finally realizing the tears dropping down the other girl's face are ones of joy. Her hand drops down to press over the other tanned hand there as she speaks softly toward the bump. "What do you think, little man?"

Just then, a little but still very there kick bumps against both their hands and they both let out an exhale through a wide smile. Santana's heart feels so big it could explode and she's never felt so simultaneously happy and confused at the same time. Only confused because it's like she doesn't know what to do with herself. She's just so... Fuck. She can't even explain it.

"I think he likes it, too," she says, the tears now dripping down her cheeks. A thumb caresses the skin only a moment later, and when she lifts her head she sees Brittany's crying, too. They really are so ridiculous.

"Elijah Lopez-Pierce," Brittany announces, pressing down harder on their hands until Santana almost pulls away, fearing harm. But her wife just pulls her closer, fingers slipping up a tanned wrist to tug gently until their heads fall together and eyes drop down to the bump between them, happily kicking her face up, Santana kisses Brittany softly and slowly, drawing out their feelings about not only each other but the name suggestion and Santana just knows they've found the perfect name when she pulls away and stares into deep, blue eyes, repeating the name because it's just so right.

"Elijah Lopez-Pierce."

* * *

**So now the baby has a name... Wooooo.**


	9. Breaking Promises (For A Good Reason)

**Title: **Breaking Promises (But For A Good Reason)  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Word Count: **4.5k  
**Summary: **She's annoyed because it's three days later, and she's sitting here in the armchair in the Fabray-Berry residence's living room with a virgin cocktail in her hand, surrounded by her dance friends, and there's no Santana by her side.

**Notes: **Someone on my Tumblr prompted this. It was anon so can't really say thank you unless they read this, but thank you if you are the anon that prompted it! Anyway, I'm changing this up a little because the prompt wouldn't really have worked in Santana's POV, so this one-shot is set in Brittany's POV and it's changed a little. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

She's annoyed.

She would say pissed off but since the baby developed ears and started hearing thirteen weeks ago—she's now at thirty three weeks—she's told herself and Santana not to swear. You know, just in case.

But anyway, she's _annoyed, _because three days ago when Santana came home from work, she was on the phone to Quinn and apparently Rachel was throwing Brittany a baby shower. Of course she'd smiled and been all happy about it, but Santana? Not so much. She'd rolled her eyes and said that it was some lame attempt of Rachel's to possibly be thrown into the vote of 'godmother' — despite Santana saying from the very beginning that there was no way in hell Rachel was even going to touch Elijah, let alone be his damn godmother.

After a few conversations and slow but very persuasive kisses, Santana had rolled her eyes, set her hands on Brittany's hips and said that yeah, okay, maybe she would consider it.

Anyway, that conversation had lead to Santana groaning about going to a baby shower and Brittany had tugged on her sleeve and batted her lashes until Santana caved and said she'd go to the stupid baby shower.

But that's not why Brittany's _annoyed._

She's annoyed because it's three days later, and she's sitting here in the armchair in the Fabray-Berry residence's living room with a virgin cocktail in her hand, surrounded by her dance friends, and there's no Santana by her side. There's no Santana in the kitchen, or in the hallway, or even standing outside with a cigarette that she'll promise she didn't smoke later. No. Instead, there's just no Santana because she's not _here. _She never turned up and Brittany's now drumming her fingertips along the swell of her stomach, and trying to find an outing of this conversation with Tina because it's still pretty awkward after the whole Asian fusion thing (also known as Tina and Mike hooking up) and because she's got her tongue at the ready to yell at her wife for breaking a promise.

"So how's the pregnancy going?" Tina asks, her voice a little too cheery. They were left together about five minutes ago because Rachel thought it'd be a good idea for them to 'reconcile' even though they were never... unreconciled? And now they're making awkward small talk.

Brittany nods slowly, sucking in her lower lip and flattening her palm against her bump without conscious thought. "It's good. I'm at thirty three weeks now so," she pats it gently to end her sentence.

"Wow, so... When's the baby's due date?"

"13th May," she says, eyes flicking around the room just in case Santana decides to show up. But nope, no sign. Brittany lets out a sigh and feels a pinch below her bump. Damn it. She needs to pee again. This pregnancy is making her pee like, a galleon a day. "Excuse me," she continues to Tina who looks just about as interested in this conversation as Brittany is. "Gotta pee."

Tina nods and Brittany parts, smiling at people as she weaves through them and heads for the bathroom, pulling out her phone as soon as she locks the door.

Where the hell is Santana?

* * *

The guy in the sky decides to really screw with Brittany when she leaves the toilet because as soon as she flips open the lock and sets a foot outside, she bumps straight into Mike.

It's been a while since they last talked outside of the studio, and even when they're at the studio, it's more of a nodding of the head and a weak smile in lieu of a greeting. Talking just feels a little uncomfortable, because really? How are you supposed to talk to a guy—not any guy, your _fiancee—_who you dumped for your best friend because you'd been in love with your best friend for as long as you could remember? Not to mention it still manages to create this pang of guilt, even if she knows Mike's happy with Tina and she's happier than she could've ever imagined with Santana. Some things just don't fade like that.

"Oh, Brittany," he says, coming to a stop and leaning back.

Brittany stumbles a little, cradling her stomach and holding the door as a support. "Oh, hi, Mike."

There's a little awkwardness in the air for a moment, where they both look around the hallway and shift awkwardly in their spot. But this is ridiculous. They used to talk all the time. Okay, sure, it was when they were together but that shouldn't change anything. It is possible for exes to be friends, after all.

"No Santana tonight?"

Brittany blinks, shocked that Mike spoke first. Her lips pop open to speak but then she's reminded of how Santana _didn't _show up tonight without even a damn text to explain why. It makes anger flare across her skin and she narrows her eyes, nostrils flaring in a way she knows Santana would find sexy. "No," she grits, lifting her head. "She decided not to turn up."

"Well I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation."

Not exactly expecting the guy to defend her wife, Brittany jerks her neck and lifts a single eyebrow. "Mike, you don't need to defend her," she says softly. "I'm piss—_annoyed _with her. She should've turned up or at least send me a text."

"Yeah," Mike agrees, nodding his head. "She should've at least sent you a text, but it's Santana." He shrugs. "I'm sure she has a perfectly good reason for not being here."

Okay, seriously, why is Mike defending her? What's going on?

"Mike, honestly, you don't have to defend her."

"I'm not defending her, exactly," he drawls out, shoving his hands in his pockets and lifting both shoulders. "It's just... It's Santana."

Brittany just stares. What does that mean?

"What?"

Mike licks his lips. "It's Santana," he repeats like saying it the second time will make sense. It doesn't. "There's going to be a reasonable explanation for her not being here because it's _your _baby shower."

She's still not quite getting this...

"I'm just saying," he continues. "She loves you, Brittany. You'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to see that." Brittany's heart flutters. "And even though I know me and her didn't exactly... bond, back then," he coughs and she feels the awkwardness from earlier creep back into the conversation. "I can even tell you that she'd never do anything to..." he eyes her bump. "..._annoy _you, or hurt you or whatever." He throws in a shrug and Brittany can't _not _smile, so she stands there and does just that. "And I can tell that you even know that."

She chews on her lower lip for a moment, thinking about Mike's words. He does have a point, and considering he and Santana never did become buddies or whatever back when she was dating him, that works to prove his point? He doesn't know Santana and yet he can tell that she'd never do a single thing to hurt Brittany or to annoy her. Santana really does love her, and even to this day just thinking it makes her melt inside.

Shaking her head, she breathes out and strokes her hand over her baby bump. "I guess so. But still, she should be here."

"She should be. It's your baby shower," Mike agrees. "But don't get too angry at her because you don't know why she's not here."

It calms her down a little and Brittany just ends up bobbing her head and smiling at the guy, opening her arms to bring him in for a hug. It's a little weird—mostly because she has to lean over her bump—but also because they haven't hugged, but she feels like she needs it. Feels like it's the only way she can say thank you and he doesn't hesitate in hugging her back.

They pull apart, but then Mike pulls his lower lip down and excuses himself. "Sorry, nature calls."

Brittany just giggles and stands aside, feeling a lot better than she did a few minutes ago.

* * *

When she gets back to the living room, Rachel's right there, hand on hip and a frown on her face.

"Where have you been?"

Brittany turns her head to the right and juts her thumb behind her. "I was peeing," she explains, scrunching her nose up in confusion. Should she have been somewhere else?

"You were gone a while."

"It's not like I can control my pee outtake."

Rachel squints at her but then rolls her eyes and waves behind her. "Okay, well, we're doing your presents now and playing a few games after so go over there."

Fair eyebrows furrow at that, and Brittany almost lets her hormones get the better of her and tell Rachel it's _her _baby shower—not Rachel's—and that she can do whatever she wants, _when _she wants. But Brittany can't be bothered with the reaction Rachel will have—she's just such a drama queen—and Brittany just returns back to her armchair, smiling as all her friends crowd around and begin to pile presents up in front of her.

* * *

All the presents are amazing, and Brittany actually breathes a sigh of relief—and kind of panics, too—because the majority of the gifts she hadn't even thought of. She's giving birth in seven weeks and she hadn't thought of the simplest things that she needed to buy. And she's almost certainly sure Santana hasn't either which just makes the panic spike through her veins and prod at her skin. Oh God. Does this mean she's going to be a bad mother?

She really needs Santana here, right now.

Tears begin to form in her eyes before she can stop them and Rachel's right her her side, stroking her bicep and looking wholly concerned.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby kicking? Do you need something?"

The questions come out like rapid fire and Brittany just wipes the tears away, shaking her head and ignoring the fact that everyone's staring at her.

"No, I'm fine. Just hormones," she explains. She guesses the majority of it is but she could still really do with Santana here. "I just need to make a phone call."

Rachel stares at her for a moment but then steps out the way, allowing Brittany to push up, bump first, and make her way through the apartment to the spare bedroom. She reaches inside the pocket of her maternity jeans—grateful for the size of them—and grabs her phone, allowing her fingers to dial in the number from muscle memory.

The phone rings three times before Santana picks up, and Brittany shifts further up the bed, attempting to cross one leg over the other but finding it more uncomfortable than how she was sitting before.

"_Hello?"_

Brittany breathes out a sigh. Even hearing Santana's voice makes her feel better. "Hey."

"_Britt, are you okay?"_

"I'm fine..." she trails off, circling a finger over her belly button. "I just wanted to know where you are."

"_Uh... Britt_—_I'm kind of... Shit." _There's a clash in the background and another cursed whisper. _"Crap, sorry. Babe, I've gotta go. Really busy."_

Brittany's eyebrows scrunch together. Why is she getting suspicious and why is Santana being so off with her? "But San, I just—"

"_Sorry, babe. Listen, I gotta go but speak later, okay? Love you."_

The line rings out and Brittany lowers it from her ear, muttering "love you, too" to an empty room, the tears falling freely from her eyes.

* * *

The only problem with pregnancy hormones is that they change so drastically. It actually, believe it or not, gets quite annoying because a minute ago she was sitting in the spare room, crying to herself and now she's storming into the living room, eyes hard, jaw clenched and fists balled up by her sides as she searches for Quinn. But there's no sign of her and so she goes for the next best thing: Rachel.

"Where's Quinn?"

Rachel spins around and blinks, confused at Santana. "Wha—What?"

"Quinn," she repeats, harder. "Where is she?"

"Um... I don't—I don't know. Are you okay?"

Brittany lets her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath through her nose to quell some of the anger within. "Fine. I just need to leave."

She turns in the direction of the front door when her friend side steps her and jumps in front, blocking her entrance. Definitely not the best thing to do to an angry, pregnant woman but Rachel's never really thought about what she does before she does it. Brittany lowers her head and glares at the girl, keeping her voice low.

"Get out of my way. I need to go home."

Rachel's eyes grow wide and she shakes her head from side to side, fast. "No. You can't leave, I—I... We have games to play and...and—"

"I'm going home," Brittany interjects, not wanting to listen to her friend anymore. A hand grabs onto her thought and she spins around, eyes narrowing so far she can barely see out of them.

"You can't go home," Rachel blurts out, and it's that that starts getting Brittany suspicious. Why doesn't Rachel want her to go home?

"Why?"

"So—Sorry?"

Brittany straightens up, towering over the other girl. "Why can't I go home?"

Rachel begins moving her lips but no words come out. She looks like a gawping fish and Brittany raises a brow at her, the annoyance growing within as Rachel continues to stutter.

"Well?"

"You just can't," the girl finally says but it's not enough reason for Brittany.

So she just pushes her friend aside, grabs her coat and the bags of presents already packed by the door and leaves.

* * *

The moment she pulls into the parking spot outside her building, she jumps out the car, doesn't even bother taking the gifts out the back and marches into the house. The key slips as she tries to get it into the lock, and it frustrates her a little more but she doesn't care. All she wants to know is why the hell Santana wasn't there, why the hell Rachel was preventing her from leaving and why Santana was so short on the phone!

And she's sure as hell going to get her answers.

Throwing her keys and jacket onto the sofa, she storms through the house, metaphorical steam blowing out her ears. If they hadn't just had a carpet installed in the living room then she would probably have the added dramatic effect of heavy, angry footsteps, but she doesn't and that kind of annoys her more. The world doesn't even want her to be angry. Goddamn it.

By the time she reaches the hallway, and has searched the rest of the house, she figures there's only two places she could be. There'd be no reason for her to be in the spare bedroom which means—

Her stomach drops and every angry feeling disappears from her body. Why would Santana be in the bedroom?

"Santana?" She calls out, suddenly fearing what she's about to see. So many thoughts and possibilities as to why Santana's in the bedroom run through her mind, but they're so frantic and moving so fast that she can't reach out and grab one to mull it over. Instead, she begins to move slowly down the hall, tilting her head to the side to see if she can hear any movement or hushed whispers. "Honey?"

The second her feet meets the creaking floorboard outside the spare bedroom, the door opens and Santana's pushing past, quickly shutting it and pressing her back against it, covering the handle with her body. Her brown eyes are wide, her hair's tied up and messy and she's wearing nothing but baggy sweats and a bra. No shirt or anything.

Brittany's stomach drops for the second time in two minutes.

"Britt," Santana breathes, shocked by her presence. "Why are you home?"

Brittany pulls her eyebrows together and squints. "What are you doing?"

"You're home early."

She steps closer. Close enough that she can feels Santana's heavy and rapid breathing beat against her collarbone. "What..." her lips are dry so she wets them with a quick poke of her tongue. "What's going on?"

Santana's chest heaves heavily as she presses further back into the door, gripping the handle so tightly her skin covering her knuckles goes a bright white. "I—I... erm..." she trails off, and turns her head as if to look through the door. "You weren't supposed to be home for another hour."

She's seen this in movies. She's watched _Love Actually _and knows that when you come home to your spouse with tousled hair and half-dressed, it's not good. She's seen the films and she knows what's going on, and her hand moves subconsciously over her stomach as if it'll protect the baby from the news. It hurts and she can feel the heat prick at her eyelids as she swallows thickly, head already beginning to shake from left to right.

"Open the door," she whispers, but Santana's eyes widen and she shakes her head.

"No."

"Santana," Brittany says in her '_don't screw with me_' tone. "Just open the door."

Apparently her tone works because Santana only hesitates for a second, gulping heavily and clenching her jaw before standing into the hall, letting the door free for Brittany to open. By now her heart's pounding so hard and fast it could break through her ribcage, and she takes in a deep breath, reaching out with a quivering hand to touch the too-warm door handle. Her eyes shut and she swears her life's about to end as she presses down and adds a little pressure, wincing internally when she hears the door swing open.

* * *

Her heart almost stops beating when she steps into the spare bedroom, but not for the reason she thought.

It's not the spare bedroom anymore...

Well, it is, but, it's completely changed.

The room is no longer beige, instead it's a color she knows as 'Peas In A Pod,' purely because she was flicking through different shades of green a few weeks back when she and Santana were looking for paint colors. The double bed that once lay in the middle of the room is no longer there, instead there's a traditional maple wood crafted cot bed and a matching chest of drawers and wardrobe each side of it. The left wall no longer contains a picture of Bob Marley either, instead it's lined with shelves and items that she and Santana have bought over the past seven and a half months. There's even a rocking chair beside the bed...

"It's the baby's room."

Brittany turns at her wife's words, eyes glistening with tears. "You—You decorated the—the baby's room?" She hiccups, stepping toward Santana.

Santana rubs the back of her neck and looks around. "Yeah," she says, but her face is completely uncertain and there's an ounce of worry Brittany picks up on. "I thought—You know, I could..." she looks up and meets blue eyes. "I thought I could surprise you," she explains, lifting a single shoulder.

The amount of love and adoration that surges through Brittany is almost overwhelming and before she can stop it, she just starts sobbing. She starts sobbing and whimpering and covers her mouth as she twists back around and scans the room, taking in the colors and fluffy toys that sit about the horizontal surfaces. She can't believe Santana did this for her. She can't believe Santana took time off and bought everything and did it down to the very tea. A few weeks back they were discussing designing the baby room and she's gone and done it. It's incredible and she can't seem to get any words out to express that.

"Britt?" Santana tugs gently on her sleeve and it causes her to turn around. "I know we said we'd do it together but I thought it'd be nice if I—"

The sentence is swiftly cut off as Brittany closes the gap between them and their mouths, pressing her lips to Santana's warm ones and humming as hands slide up her ribcage and thumbs graze over the sides of the baby bump. She kisses Santana and Santana never takes long to kiss back, and when she does she smiles and twists the kiss, shifting and allowing Brittany to suck in her lower lip. Pale hands slip up to the ponytail in her wife's hair and she pulls the band free, raking her fingers through Santana's hair and winding them through it afterward, deepening the kiss and pressing closer as Santana moans into her mouth.

With this kiss she says '_thank you'_. She says '_I love you'_. She says _'you mean the world to me' _and yet even though Santana nods into it, sensing the words unspoken, Brittany doesn't feel like it's enough. But soon enough air becomes a need and she pulls back, but keeps their protruding features together; noses, chins, foreheads. Her eyes close and she licks her lips, when Santana nudges her nose up and kisses her softly, one last time, then returns to their previous position.

Slowly, blue eyes open and then she's staring deeply into brown, penetrating through the walls that no-one else has been able to get past before. She sees straight through Santana and it almost makes her melt when the love Santana has for her beams through everything else. Her hands untangle from dark hair, and come to cup tanned cheeks, the thumb of her right hand running along Santana's bottom lip and marveling at how they're still parted, like she wants to keep kissing her forever.

Brittany knows the feeling.

It's a few seconds when someone speaks, and it's Santana, whose voice is raspy and deep like she's just had her breath taken away. "So I'm guessing you like it?"

"I love it. I love it so much. I can't—I can't even begin to thank you, San."

Santana chuckles lightly and the sound warms Brittany's heart. "You don't need to thank me, baby. This is for us." She lets one hand fall from Brittany's ribcage to the swell of her stomach, palm pushing into the very front of it. "This is for us and him. For our family," she says, and her brown eyes stare so deeply into blue, Brittany almost faints with the love she feels. God. She's so in love and she's never going to tire of hearing the words 'our family.'

"I love you," she breathes.

Lips twitching, Santana kisses her again and whispers, "I love you, too," into her mouth.

They stay that close for a long minute, just gazing at each other and breathing in each others air until Santana snaps her head back and looks toward the wardrobe. Confused, Brittany cocks her head to the side and reaches out for her wife when Santana steps away, but she just shakes her head and holds up a hand, reaching for the handle of the wardrobe and yanking it open, revealing a tucked away Quinn, curled up with her knees pulled to her chest and just generally looking incredibly uncomfortable.

"Quinn?" Brittany squeaks. "What are you doing?"

Quinn turns and flashes one of those _please don't kill me _grins as she climbs out the closet, and scowls at Santana when she makes a remark about how it's not the first time she's come out the closet. "I was—" her foot gets stuck and she yanks it forward, stumbling into the room. "I was helping Santana," she finally explains, brushing down her paint covered clothes. "And I was supposed to get out and back to the shower before you noticed I wasn't there but apparently, that didn't go to plan.

"Wait..." Brittany's eyes drift to Santana, who's still very much topless. "Why is my wife in a bra and sweats?"

Hazel eyes widen and the blonde spins around, reaching back into the closet and twisting back around with an armful of paint covered clothes. "Your wife—" she pauses to throw the clothes at Santana. "—Had a suspicion that something would interrupt this," she gestures toward the room with her left hand. "So she bought in a change of clothes but you were too close for her to put a top on apparently." Her eyes narrow as they flash to Santana who smirks at Brittany as blue eyes do a slow trail of her wife's body, chiseled abs and tanned skin. "Although now I'm thinking it was just to distract you..."

Brittany's barely even listening to the other blonde as she stares into dark brown eyes, which are hooding slowly. She knows that look and her eyes unconsciously flicker down to her wife's groin but the sweat pants are too baggy that she can't see anything, so she just steps closer and hooks her fingers into Santana's sweatpants, tugging her forward until her stomach presses against the swell of Brittany's stomach.

"Yeah, okay, I'm totally getting out of here," Quinn announces, skipping out the door. "No need to say thanks, bitch!"

"No swearing!" Santana and Brittany both yell, eying the door and giggling when Quinn pops her head back in and gives them a weird look.

"I will never get you guys."

Santana's eyes narrow into a glare as they flash to Quinn. "Pretty good that you don't have to 'get us' then isn't it?" She fires back. "Just leave and go back to Danny Devito."

Hazel eyes roll but Quinn doesn't say anything and moments later, Brittany hears the front door open and shut as their friend leaves. She quickly pecks Santana's cheek and then wraps her arms around her neck, burying her face into a tanned shoulder, lips barely touching her skin and nose inhaling the deep scent of something exotic and tangy. That's not the shower gel she uses either, it's just Santana.

"You alright, baby?" Santana coos, stroking her hand over blonde hair.

Brittany pulls back and slides one arm away, keeping the other wrapped around Santana's shoulders as they both twist to look at the baby's room.

"I'm perfect," she whispers and brown eyes slide in her direction at the same time a tanned hand reaches over to rest high on the swell of her stomach.

"Seven weeks, Britt."

"Seven weeks, San." Brittany scrunches up her nose with excitement and closes her eyes when Santana stretches up and dusts a kiss across her bottom lip. "Oh and by the way, we've got a whole load of baby stuff in the car from the shower."

Santana just lets out a groan and rests her head against Brittany's shoulder. "This baby better be worth it," she jokes.

Brittany just smiles, and they both know Elijah's going to be more than worth it when he arrives.

* * *

**Eeeeek I'm excited for the next chapter!**


	10. This Is The Moment

**Title: **This Is The Moment  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Word Count: **8.3k  
**Summary: **They've been planning and waiting and practicing, but nothing could have ever prepared Santana for _this._ Part of the _If It Hurts This Much _universe!

**Notes: **I don't really have anything to say for this one... It was inevitable so it wasn't really a prompt, but yeah, hope you enjoy and thanks for the reviews! You guys are awesome!

* * *

The last few weeks of Brittany's pregnancy fly by.

One moment Santana's coming home from work, lying her head in Brittany's lap, kissing the swell of her stomach and saying how it's only four weeks until they meet, and then the next she's coming home and Brittany's whispering how it's only two.

Brittany's hormones become worse, but it's nothing to complain about and whether it's the middle of the night or early in the morning when Brittany's hand slips beneath her top and short nails graze over her abs, Santana awakens with a smile, tells Brittany to roll onto her slide, pushes down her boxers and slides into her slowly, fingers slipping between Brittany's as their hands rest on the swell of her stomach.

But then one night she's woken to the sound of her name being called frantically from Brittany's lips and she knows something's different. It's already a week past the due date and she's sat upright in a split second, turning to face her wife as Brittany presses her hand hard into her stomach and looks up through glossy blue eyes.

"My water broke," Brittany says, panic evident in her voice.

And Santana freezes.

It feels too soon to be now. It feels _way_ too soon and even though there's a duffel bag sitting by the front door already, even though they've both read up on what they need to do and have been to countless Lamaze classes to get ready for this moment, it still doesn't feel like enough.

Santana still forces herself into action, whipping her head around with fatigue still tugging at her mind and jumps off the bed. She moves around their bedroom, grabs some clothes and slips into them as Brittany strokes her stomach, already sitting with her legs dangling off the side of the bed.

"We're fine. We're good. We're ready," Santana says.

It's mostly to herself though, as some kind of calming technique and after she pushes a top into Brittany's hand, she blanks. But fingers latch onto her wrist and she's brought back to earth, and to blue eyes.

"Calm down, Santana," Brittany whispers. "We really are fine. Just grab my stuff and lets get to the car."

Despite the fact that Santana's sure she should be the one saying that, she takes a few deep breaths and calms down. Her mind manages to sort itself out and then she's getting back into action again, wetting her lips, grabbing Brittany's hand, wrapping her arm around Brittany's waist and walking them both to the front door, only pausing to sling the duffel bag over her shoulder before they leave.

"We're having a baby, San," Brittany murmurs in wonderment as Santana straps her in.

Santana doesn't even hesitate before lifting up to press a lingering kiss to her wife's mouth.

* * *

The Lamaze classes really do help it seems, and Santana times her wife's contractions as she cuts through the streets of New York.

Brittany's contractions are three to five minutes apart, lasting between forty and sixty seconds and Santana knows, even through the sleepiness, that this means Brittany should probably be in a hospital room about now.

She's in the 'active phase' and Santana coaches her wife through all the relaxation techniques and breathing exercises they've practiced in the past few months, trying to remember to breath herself because she can't panic. She's not _allowed _to panic because if she does, Brittany will start panicking and if Brittany starts panicking, both of them will be panicking and that won't do anyone any good.

So she just steadies her breaths at the red lights and sends a prayer to the heavens that there's no roadworks on their route.

* * *

Brittany's in a considerable amount of pain by the time they get to the hospital, and Santana leaves her car in a no parking zone as she rushes around to the passenger side door and helps her wife out.

They get to the front desk and the words leave her mouth so quickly that she doesn't even know what she really says.

But then there's a nurse lowering Brittany into wheelchair, telling her they have a private room ready for them and Santana doesn't really care about much else, she just grabs Brittany's hand as they're lead to the room.

* * *

Six hours later and the next phase comes, and Santana's pretty sure in their entire time together combined—friendship and all—she's never heard Brittany swear this much.

She's cursing like a truck driver, glaring at Santana with red hot cheeks and a sweaty forehead, and Santana knows this is all part of the first stage and sits beside her, nodding when Brittany tells her this is her fault and taking none of the insults thrown her way seriously as she rubs her wife's back.

The contractions become more frequent, coming every two to three minutes and lasting about a minute each, and Brittany becomes more tired out as the hours drag on.

But Santana's there, holding her from behind, stretching her legs out on either side of Brittany's as she sits behind her and rocks them back and forth.

A few minutes later, and the doctor tells them it's time to start pushing.

* * *

Santana stands by the bedside, clutching at Brittany's hand and breathing in and out with her, ignoring the sound of the doctor between her wife's legs.

She doesn't know how long it is before Brittany's throwing her head back, screaming out through tears and clutching Santana's hand so hard that she's sure she's going to need an x-ray afterward, but she doesn't care. Because after that there's a tiny cry breaking through the air and Santana glances down to see the second most beautiful thing in the room.

Everything around her besides Brittany and the source of the crying disappears, and when the doctor hands over a little bundle into Brittany's arms, she breaks down into tears herself.

She chokes on the sobs in her throat and looks at Brittany who's sobbing too, but they're both cracking a smile and it all feels too much again. They've been waiting for this moment for so long. They've been planning and waiting and practicing, but nothing could have ever prepared Santana for _this. _Her baby boy, her _son, _in her wife's arms, stretching his tiny, chubby little arms above his head and dropping his tiny lips open to yawn. Tiny little cries are escaping his lips, and his eyes are squeezed shut and Santana just wants to know what are behind those tiny pale eyelids. Are they brown eyes? Or does he carry his other mothers astounding crystal blue ones?

Her tears begin to die down as she leans in towards Brittany, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to her head and then pressing their temples together, looking down at their son. It all feels too surreal and she can't help but choke out a laugh, sniffling at the baby and reaching forward until five tiny little fingers wrap around the end of her pointer one. Elijah's skin is so soft and she begins to cry all over again, so proud, so happy, so fucking in love, and _shit,_ Elijah already has her wrapped around his little finger.

"San," Brittany whispers and Santana turns her head just in time to catch the kiss her wife offers.

Their lips stay together, a gasp coming up from Santana's throat but she doesn't move, just keeps kissing her over and over until her head becomes dizzy and she has to pull back, but even then she just whispers, "I love you" into the blonde's lips.

Then she repeats it to the small human in Brittany's arms and everything just feels complete.

* * *

Elijah Lopez-Pierce was born at 4:48am on 20th May 2022.

Santana knows down to the very second of the minute he was born, that it's going to be ingrained in her mind forever.

He's weighs eight pounds, two ounces and is already twenty one inches from his tiny head to his cute little button toes. Dark, thick hair covers his head, leaning to the left after Brittany brushed it there, he's got Brittany's lips, Santana's nose, smooth tanned skin and big, blue eyes. He's quite possibly the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

Although, with Brittany lying there, staring dreamily down at him, Santana second guesses herself.

"He's beautiful," Brittany whispers and Santana sighs, shifting further onto the bed where she's lying beside her wife and their baby. Their _son._

"He's half of you so that's not really surprising," she says, biting her lip and blushing ever-so-slightly.

Lips, warm and soft, press against her cheek and a nose strokes over her jaw as Brittany pulls back. "Half of you, too."

Even though she's known this for nine months, knowing that this little thing, bundled in a blue blanket and cradled to Brittany's chest, is half hers still manages to rip the breath straight from her chest. She chokes a little, pounds her fist against her chest twice and looks away because it's actually embarrassing how much she's cried since they got here, but Brittany's there, reaching up before she can wipe the tears forming in the corners of her eyes and shakes her head.

"Don't," she mutters, and Santana doesn't, just settles back beside her and lets the tears flow as she feels an overwhelming rush of pride wash through her, her eyes looking between her girl, and her little man, the two most important people in her life.

* * *

After Elijah's been cleaned up and Brittany's been moved into another, larger room, the nurse comes in and tells them she needs to put some ID bands on them.

Santana's a little wary because she doesn't see a point in the near future where she's going to be apart from either Brittany or Elijah, but Brittany wraps her hand around hers and nods at the nurse, telling her it's okay.

The band goes around Santana's wrist, and she watches the nurse delicately pick up Elijah's wrist and tug it to the smallest hole on it. It worries her for a moment, but it seems the nurse sees your concern because she looks at her and says everything's okay and that the baby's healthy.

She can't help but begin to cry again and it makes her feel a little better when she turns to find Brittany doing the same thing.

She just kisses Brittany on the temple and settles back, holding both of them close.

* * *

The nurse comes back ten minutes later and tells Brittany to attempt to nurse Elijah, at the same time as he begins to suck at Santana's finger as she strokes over his features, his tiny nose and little lips.

Despite looking wholly scared by the proposal, she nods and Santana dislikes hat she has to hand Elijah back for that, but knows it needs to be done and moves.

She slowly passes him over, catching her breath when Elijah makes a sound of protest but then he quietens the moment he settles against Brittany's chest and Santana all about melts. She helps her wife with her hospital gown, able to see how tired Brittany is and pulls one side of it open, tugging it gently down her shoulder until her breast is revealed. Elijah scrunches up his face and his mouth pops open, and Santana already knows that means he's about to cry, but Brittany does too and is already shifting him up until Elijah latches on and begins nursing.

"Oh my God..." Brittany's eyes are wide and she blinks, her chest pushing forward.

Santana giggles and perches on the side of the bed, keeping one hand around her wife's shoulder and the other supporting and steadying Elijah. "Weird?"

"So weird," Brittany replies but she chuckles and Santana takes a second to glance between the two, realizing how madly in love she is with both of them. "But a good weird, you know?"

"Yeah, baby. Do you need anything? A snack or something?"

"A nap would be good," she chuckles and yawns a second afterward, flinching when Elijah slips off. Santana urges him forward and he starts again, yet she lets her hand linger and her fingers stroke over his dark curls.

"Yeah, sweetheart," she murmurs, eyes trained on her son. She doesn't think she'll ever be able to get over thinking that. "But no food or anything?"

Brittany shakes her head and leans back against Santana's arm, twisting her head to press her nose into the base of her tanned neck.

"No, thank you," she breathes out, clearly exhausted. "I have everything I need."

Santana just sighs through a smile.

* * *

"_What does he look like? Is he beautiful? Does he have brown eyes or blue eyes? Does he look more like you or Brittany? How tall is he?"_

Santana shakes her head against Rachel's continuous questions, clutching the cell phone closer to her ear. "Would you shut up for a second and hand me back to Quinn?"

Somehow calling Quinn ended up with Rachel snatching the phone, running away and asking all these questions. And while Santana wants to answer absolutely everything to do with Elijah, she's tired and just wants to tell someone that they're okay and everything went well, that person being Quinn.

"_Fine you can have her back for sixty seconds but then I'm taking the phone back."_

"Whatever, Berry. Just hand the damn phone over."

Seconds later Quinn's muffled voice comes down the line. _"Hey, S. How's Britt?"_

Santana tilts her head, temple pressed against the door jam as she stares into the room. Brittany's lying on her side, fast asleep and there's a cot in the corner of the room where Elijah lies. It's not hospital policy to let her stay, but she was pretty damn set on not letting either of them out of her sight. The nurse seemed a bit scared by Santana's cocked brow and tensed jaw and just nodded before telling her she might be able to bring in a cot.

"She's fine. Tired, but fine."

"_What about you?"_

Santana chuckles but she doesn't know why. "I haven't sleep in the last twenty seven hours and I'm pretty sure my adrenaline from my son's birth is running out."

"_Shit. That's so weird."_

She straightens up. "What?"

"_Saying you have a son," _Quinn explains and Santana can imagine the shrug that went with it. _"You're a full on adult now."_

"I was a full on adult when I met you."

"_Not really. You were still pretending you weren't madly in love with your best friend and that your marriage was working."_

Santana flinches and glowers. "Fuck you," she whispers but guesses her friend kind of has a point. "Anyway, pass me back to your midget. She wants to know about Eli."

"_Wow, you're actually going to answer her questions? You're in love already."_

It's not a question, it's a statement and Santana manages a smile. "I can't even describe it, Q."

"_Okay, well here's my fiancee_—"Santana doesn't even gag; apparently she's _that _tired. "—_And be nice."_

She squeezes her eyes shut and scrunches up her face, feeling her muscles ache. "I'll do my best."

Then Rachel comes on the line and Santana really wishes she'd hung up, but is sort of secretly glad she gets to gush over her son, not that she'd ever admit that.

* * *

She wanders back into the room at some point and slumps down on the chair, hand rubbing over her face and pressing into her eyes to rid the ache behind them. She lets out a long exhale and hangs her head, rolling it from side to side to get the crick out her neck. She has absolutely no idea what time it is but couldn't really give a damn right now. Her son's to her right and her wife's to her left; the lack of sleep means nothing at this precise moment in time.

"San?"

Santana lifts her head and sees her wife blink sleepily at her. "I'm here."

A hand reaches out for her. "Come here," she whispers and Santana doesn't let a second pass before she's sliding onto the bed and letting Brittany curl into her, head tucked beneath her chin and hands clasped above her chest. Her own follow it and she rests her head back, allowing her eyes to shut.

* * *

Barely twenty minutes later Santana woken by the sound of the door opening and a tiny cry.

It seems her body is already programmed for waking up and she shoots from the bed, half-sprinting toward the nurse who's carrying Elijah, covered in blankets, into the room.

"Is he okay? What's wrong?"

The nurse blinks at her, dazed by the questions thrown at her. "Time for another attempt at nursing," she says after returning to normality. In her arms, Elijah fusses and scrunches up his nose, hands reaching out for something that isn't there.

"Okay, well hand him over and I'll wake Britt up."

"You sure you don't need any help?"

Santana shakes her head as Elijah's delicately placed into her arms, where he curls into her, snuggling down. A soft smile tugs at her lips and her heart expands at least three sizes. How could she have fallen in love with something in such a short amount of time? "No, it's fine. Thank you."

Giving her a nod, the nurse walks out and Santana makes her way over to the sleeping blonde, perching onto the edge of the bed and shifting Elijah so he's comfortable and steady, before reaching over and placing her hand on Brittany's shoulder. She shakes her gently, whispering her name until Brittany begins to stir, rolling slightly and blinking lazily until she sees Santana and Elijah, which causes her to bolt upright, eyes wide and back as straight as a pole.

"What's wrong? Is he okay?" She blurts out, hand snapping to cup Elijah's skull. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

Santana chuckles. "No, babe. Nothing's wrong, we're fine. Eli just needs some feeding."

Brittany breathes out a heavy exhale and relaxes back, already peeling open her hospital gown. "Oh okay," she sighs, the fatigue taking over her once again.

Finding it more than adorable, Santana just aids Elijah in nursing and when he's latched on, her phone begins buzzing in her pocket. The intrusion is unwanted and she's pretty it could be Rachel, 'cause she wouldn't put it past her to ring half an hour after their last phone call to check for any changes. Just thinking it might be her pisses her off and she leans down to Elijah, pressing a kiss to the back of his skull and then leans up to Brittany.

"Gotta go outside for a second," she whispers, dusting her lips across Brittany's. "I'll be back in a second."

Brittany nods and takes Elijah, pulling him to her chest and making sure he doesn't detach as Santana slips out the door.

* * *

"Berry, I swear to God—"

"_Not the fruit you're looking for," _a voice replies. _"Who's Berry anyway?"_

Santana jerks her head back and looks at the illuminated screen, confused. Then she sees the caller ID and realizes it's not Rachel, quickly returning it to her ear.

"Berry's someone small and annoying," she says, smiling. "You two would get along swimmingly, actually, Em."

"_Haha," _Brittany's sister fires back, dryly. _"Where's my sister, anyway?"_

"You rang _my _phone and you're asking where your sister is?"

"_You two are like, stuck together all the time. It's gross." _Santana rolls her eyes but laughs. _"So she isn't with you?"_

"She's in the room behind me but yeah," she says. "Why didn't you just ring her?"

"_Because she's just popped, Einstein. She's gonna need to sleep and crap, and I'm pretty sure you can't be on your cell in hospitals anyway"_

Santana looks around her, seeing a nurse eye her from the nurses station and decides to move to the stairwell, just in case. "You can when outside the hospital room. Now anyway, I wanna get back to my family so what do you want, squirt?"

"_I was just checking to make sure everything was okay. I know my mom and dad talked to Britt earlier but they didn't mention you, so... You know, just thought I'd check up on you."_

The one thing they never do, her and Emily that is, is ask about how each other are. They do care for each other obviously, and behind all the jokes and the banter, they definitely love each other too, but they never tell each other that. It's just not how they work. Kind of like her and Quinn; they're best friends but they spend the majority of their time together throwing insults and light jabs. And hearing Emily be concerned about it kind of makes her smile. She's not going to tell Emily that, though.

"Aw, is little Emily concerned?"

"_Shut up, I'm just asking for Britt. If you're not okay then she isn't."_

Santana leans back against the wall and crosses one arm over her chest. "Yeah, Em, I'm fine. Tired but fine."

"_Cool... Cool." _It goes silent for a moment and she takes in a deep breath, wondering what to say next. Like she said, they never do this so she doesn't know where to go now. _"Anyway, seeing as you can't give Eli my name as the middle one 'cause he's a stupid boy_—"

"The stupid boy that's your nephew."

"—_Yeah, whatever. Anyway, 'cause you can't name him Elijah 'Emily' Lopez-Pierce, how about Emilio? Or like, Elmar, or Elmo?"_

"Hell no," Santana almost yells back. "I'm not naming my kid after some weird, fuzzy character from Sesame Street."

"_Fine," _Emily sighs. _"How about Emilio? That's pretty close to Emily."_

"No."

"_Elmar?"_

"Sounds like a grandpa's name."

"_Emmanuel?"_

Santana shakes her head and groans, pushing off the wall with her shoulder blades and walking back into the hospital hallway. "No."

"_Erm... hold on, the page is loading."_

She laughs again and drops her arm, peering around the corner to make sure there aren't any nurses at the station before quickly skipping past and slipping into Brittany's hospital room, leaning back against the door as she shuts it.

"_Emmett?"_

"A character from Twilight? Really?"

On the bed, Brittany's cradling Elijah and rocking him back and forth in her arms, but her eyes are locked onto Santana. She mouths "who's that?" and Santana smiles as she crosses the room to get to her, pushing her palm over the speaking end of her cell phone as she whispers "Emily" and kisses Brittany in greeting.

"_Okay, well there aren't anymore so you gotta choose one of them."_

"I'm going now," Santana says. "Unless you wanna talk to Britt."

"_No, I'm good, but_—_"_

"Bye, Emily."

The line clicks off before she even hears Emily's response and throws the phone across the room where it lands on the cushion of the armchair. Her left arm lays across Brittany's legs and her other comes up to toy with Elijah's hand that's resting just shy of Brittany's breast. It makes her heart clench as she looks at her family but, then she sees blue eyes locked onto her face and she cocks her head to the side.

"What?"

Brittany shrugs and looks back down to the baby. "Nothing," she breathes. "What did Emily want?"

Brown eyes narrow but Santana answers anyway, curious as to why Brittany was staring at her. "Just trying to get us to middle name Elijah some random ass names."

"Santana!" Brittany chides at the curse. "What did she suggest?"

"Emmanuel, Elmar, Emmet, Elmo—"

"As in the thing from Sesame Street?"

Santana grins and bobs her head, stroking over Elijah's wrist with the back of her finger. "Yeah."

"So... Do you have any thoughts about it?"

She glances up, eyebrows pushed together. "About what?"

Brittany lowers her vision to Elijah who begins spilling milk down her breast, then reels away with a scrunched face and popped open lips. She pulls him away and carefully hands him to Santana who stands, cradles the base of his skull, rests him on her chest, letting his head rest gently on her shoulder. She heads over to the duffel bag they brought with them and unzips it, reaching inside to grab the burping cloth and slides it beneath Elijah's head, before she begins gently patting his back in a circular motion.

She turns back to Brittany, trying to remember where they left the conversation. Oh, right, middle names. "So, yeah, um, do I have any thoughts about what?"

"Middle names for Eli."

Santana tugs her bottom lip into her mouth, chewing it lightly. "I hadn't really thought about it," she answers, honestly, walking around the room, still rubbing Elijah's back. "I mean, I was thinking..."

She trails off, not because she doesn't know what to say but because she's not sure if it's a good idea. Sure, Brittany will appreciate it but she just doesn't know. It seems a bit like she's copying if she suggests what she's thinking, but it would be in honor of the person who owns the name now, she guesses.

"Thinking what?"

Over her shoulder, Elijah lets out a loud burp and Santana feels the milk drip onto her shirt where it's missed the burping cloth. She arches her chest forward, moving toward the bed to hand her son over, the cloth too, before she moves back toward the armchair, reaching to the duffel bag beside it for a new shirt. She's sure she packed one in here somewhere...

"Santana?"

She spins around, hands coming down to the hem of her top to whip it off her body in one swift motion. "Yeah?"

Brittany wipes the milk off Elijah's chin as she speaks. "What were you thinking?"

"I was just—" her t-shirt gets caught in her mouth and prevents her from speaking for a moment. "—Just thinking something," she continues and tugs the armchair forward, throwing the dirty shirt on top of the duffel bag simultaneously. She takes a seat and shuffles to the edge, reaching with both hands to softly grab at her wife and her son. "I don't know. I had an idea but... I don't want you to think I'm like, copying you." She takes in a deep breath and shakes her head, leaning back. "Don't worry, it's just stupid.

Her thumb rubs over the back of Brittany's hand as she talks, and her eyes drop down to follow the movement. But then the hand beneath hers pull out and stretches to her chin, pinching it lightly and forcing her to look up.

"It won't be stupid," Brittany's voice is serious and low. "So just tell me."

"You don't know that."

"I don't, but I know you and I know you're not stupid."

Santana takes the hand away from her face, tangling their fingers together and covering it with her free hand. Even though Brittany's saying she's not being stupid, she still feels it. The idea isn't exactly original and she can't say she's been thinking about it for a while because truthfully, she's only just thought about it.

"I was thinking..." she sucks in her lips and takes in a deep breath. "What about your dad?"

Fair eyebrows pull together, Brittany's face scrunching too. "What about him?"

"His name... Neil." Santana lifts her shoulders and lets her eyes flicker up quickly before dropping once more. "Elijah... Neil... Lopez-Pierce."

There's a few moments of silence in which Santana's scared to look up. She doesn't know how to react and she knows Neil isn't exactly like, a baby's name—even though obviously it has been at some point—but it's just something of respect. After all, Brittany suggested they name him after Santana's abuelo, and Neil's been an inspiration after the events of the past few years. He's strong and Santana knows this is a good idea, but she's worried, even if she doesn't know why.

"You'd do that?"

She whips her head up, seeing the unbridled excitement beam through glassy, blue eyes. "Well, yeah," she says through a shrug. "I mean... Your dad's basically my dad and, he's been amazing to us." She shrugs again, not quite knowing why. "He's been through much and is so strong and, I don't know. I think he deserves to be included. I mean, my family is, too so—"

"Kiss me," Brittany cuts in, waving her hand in the air to beckon Santana. "Just—come here and kiss me."

Santana doesn't protest, just stretches up, using her palms to support her weight and presses their lips together. The kiss is warm, Brittany's lips too and Santana's eyes flutter shut as she smiles into her wife's mouth. They pull back, keeping the kiss short because Elijah's still in Brittany's arms and god only knows they get carried away sometimes, and then they're both looking down at their child, their baby, their _son _and smiling together.

"Elijah Neil Lopez-Pierce," Santana sighs, because this moment doesn't feel real. She can't believe she's finally got the girl and the family. It's just... It's incredible.

"Yeah, baby, Elijah Neil Lopez-Pierce. Our son."

Santana just sighs.

* * *

Brittany has to stay overnight again according to standard hospital guidelines and when the nurse comes in to tell them this, Santana's all ready for a night's sleep in the armchair, but Brittany throws her a look and she freezes in the middle of the hospital room.

"What?"

"You're not going to sleep in the chair, babe," Brittany whispers as Elijah sleeps gently against her chest.

Santana eyes the floor, warily. "The floor's a bit cold and that bed isn't big enough for us both."

"I know, but I think you should just go home for tonight and have a good sleep. You haven't slept for more than twenty minutes since we got here."

She wants to argue but apparently the man upstairs is out to get her because she begins yawning before she can even come back with a reply. Brittany lifts a brow in her direction in that _told you so_ manner and Santana rolls her eyes. Her wife does have a point, she guesses. She hasn't really slept all that much and she doesn't even know what day it is but she just wants to stay here with Brittany and Eli. She doesn't want to leave them.

"You haven't slept that much more," she finally retorts, falling into the chair beside the bed and kicking her feet up.

"I've had way more sleep than you, San. Honestly," Brittany says, stroking her hand over Elijah's dark hair. "Just go home and sleep tonight."

Santana can feel another yawn coming on but fights it with everything inside of her. She's stubborn and frankly, she doesn't want to even think about leaving her family, let alone actually _doing _it. "Britt, I'm fine. I just wanna stay here with you and Eli."

"San," Brittany says in her warning tone. "You can come back as soon as you wake up tomorrow and take us home."

"No, I don't want to."

"Well you're going to."

Santana tilts her head to the side. "Britt," she deadpans, fighting her corner.

"San," Brittany mirrors in the same manner but chuckles afterward. "Baby, please go home. You look like—poop," she lands on, pulling her lips down at the side and glancing at the baby. Oh right, yeah, the no swearing thing.

"Thanks, Britt," Santana says flatly, but yawns straight afterward, stretching her arms into the air before letting them fall back down against the chair. "Okay, I am tired," she finally admits when she notices the blue eyes staring at her with no amusement whatsoever. They stare at her for long moments, and she swears they're acting burning a hole into her mind and switching her decision because she finds herself giving in. Then again, she always gives into what Brittany wants. What Brittany wants, Brittany gets. It's always been like that. "Fine!" She half-yells, shaking her head and leaning forward. "I'll go home, tonight, jheeze."

"Good," Brittany beams, brightly, showing all her teeth through a grin and lifting her hand to poke at Elijah's lower lip as it drops open, tiny snores coming from his mouth.

Santana just rolls her eyes.

* * *

The moment she gets home, she already wants to go back to the hospital.

It's dark, and cold, and lonely and really, really empty. The apartment just feels too big without Brittany and Santana walks around the place, flinching at the sound of her own footsteps because she's never taken notice of them before. Not whilst Brittany was there, lingering somewhere in the apartment. She stops when she gets to the bedroom and stares at the bed, inhaling deeply and letting her eyes flutter shut as Brittany's scent hits her.

She just stands there and stares for at least five minutes, looking between each side of the bed and sighing, just knowing she's going to be sleeping alone tonight.

She remembers how crappy it was when Sophie first moved to California and Santana had to go back to her apartment because she didn't have an excuse to stay at Brittany's anymore. Luckily it didn't exactly last long, but the length of time she spent lying in bed alone, staring at the right side of the bed and frowning at how the sheets were still perfectly intact was freaking _awful._

And if she stays in that bed, the same thing will happen and she just can't sleep in that bed alone, so she walks back through the apartment, stopping at the hallway closet to grab a blanket and two pillows before heading to the living room. It's a little better, and she settles down onto the couch, flicking on the TV to some boring documentary and leans back against her arm, drumming her other hand against her stomach and thinking of how tomorrow, she gets to bring her son and her wife back home.

She can't think of anything better.

* * *

The moment she's beginning to drift off to sleep, her phone begins buzzing on the floor next to her. She reaches down blindly and swipes at it, wincing and squinting at the brightness of the screen as she punches in her code and brings up the text. It's Brittany of course, and there's a picture attached to it, too and she opens it right away, revealing a sleepy Brittany, mostly snuggled behind the robe Santana bought her from home, and Elijah's lying on his back, arms and legs spread out starfish style, but he's quite obviously asleep. The caption is barely an inch below and she begins welling up as she reads it.

_We're missing you over here. Elijah can't wait to come home tomorrow!_

Santana sucks in her lips to stop the tears from flowing and shakes her head, knowing that Brittany wants her right now but also knows the hospital probably wouldn't take too kindly to her barging in and demanding to stay with her wife. She's pretty sure that's why they have security at that place. She doesn't even hesitate in texting back.

_That's not fair, Britt Britt. I wanna be with you two. Can I ring you?_

She taps her screen and stares at her phone after she sends it, just waiting. The picture is still on screen and she sighs as she looks at it. She really would do anything to be snuggled up with Elijah and Brittany right now, _anything. _Her phone vibrates and she snatches quickly before the screen can fade.

_For a minute. I don't want to wake Eli or piss any of the nurses off._

Santana grins and instantly calls her wife, bringing the phone to her ear and rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling.

"_Hey, baby."_

"Thought we weren't allowed to swear," she says in lieu of a greeting.

Brittany giggles quietly down the line. _"I wrote it, it's not the same."_

"So if I write down my swear words I can swear?"

"_You're so silly," _Brittany replies, voice hushed. _"Are you okay?"_

"No," Santana says honestly. She's not; she's alone in a dark, lonely house when her newborn son and wife are somewhere else. She's actually pretty crappy. "I wanna be with you."

"_You will be tomorrow, San. It's only a few hours away."_

Making a disproving grunt, she rolls onto her stomach and presses her chin into the pillow, staring at arm of the sofa. "I don't care," she whines. "I wanna be with you _now_."

The sound of Brittany giggling beneath her breath almost makes Santana run out her apartment and to the hospital. _"Baby, don't do that. We wanna be with you, too, but you need some sleep and so do we."_

"Does this mean you're going?" She pouts, voice dropping with sadness.

"_Stop pouting, it's making me pout, too," _Brittany replies and Santana's pout turns into a grin. _"And yeah. Elijah keeps stirring and rolling and he needs one last feed before we go to sleep."_

"Okay," she draws out. "Fine. But this sucks, Britt Britt. I'm going to be at the hospital bright and early tomorrow."

"_You better be. I love you."_

"I love you more."

"_Not possible."_

"Think it is."

Brittany giggles and Santana can hear her wife shaking her head. _"Nope, definitely not, but we've really gotta go now, honey. Elijah says goodnight."_

She breathes out heavily and pinches her lips up at the side. "Kiss him goodnight for me."

"_What about me?"_

She grins and rolls again, chuckling into the air. "You can't kiss yourself, Britt."

"_I can imagine you kissing me," _Brittany drawls, and Santana can hear the suggestiveness of her tone.

"Well do it innocently because our son is lying next to you and kiss yourself goodnight for me. A few times. Three or four tops. No, wait, make it six. Or seven. Screw it, go for ten."

Her wife laughs quietly as she speaks. _"I love you so much."_

"I love you, too. Night Britt."

"_Night, baby._"

The line goes dead and until the moment she falls asleep, Santana stares at the picture of her son and her wife.

* * *

Brittany's already changing Elijah into another outfit, his ready-to-see-your-home outfit as Brittany had called it, when Santana arrives at the hospital room.

She throws another duffel, full of baby clothes and Brittany's clothes, onto the floor and immediately shoots to her wife, wrapping Brittany up in a backwards hug and letting one hand lay across her stomach—shocked by the sudden flatness of it—whilst the other adjusts the footing of Elijah's babygrow. Brittany leans back into her, and finishes doing up the poppers of Elijah's clothing before standing upright and laying her arms over the tanned ones around her waist.

"I missed you," Santana murmurs, nuzzling into her neck.

Brittany twists in her arms, hands coming up to cup her cheeks. "We missed you too," she replies through a pout, already ducking her head to kiss Santana quickly before spinning back to their son. She picks Elijah up and sits back on the side of the bed, wincing, probably because she's still sore and Santana just stares at her, concerned. She hates seeing Brittany in pain, or in discomfort or whatever.

"You okay?"

Brittany manages a pained smile but nods and holds out Elijah. "Yeah," she says. "But can you hold him for a moment?"

"Sure." Santana cradles her son carefully, resting his head her shoulder and gently rubbing his back, seeing as it's 8:15 and he would've had his feed at 8. "Do you need me to get you something?"

Brittany's palms press into the mattress and she closes her eyes, sucking in her lips as she shuffles onto the bed. "No, I'm just sore."

"Aw, baby, I hate this."

"The nurse said I'll be fine in a few days," she says, slowly moving to her feet. "I'll just have to adjust to sitting down until then."

Santana nods and begins bumping her body up and down as Elijah drools onto her neck. She doesn't care, though. "Okay, well tell me if I can do anything."

Brittany flashes her a grateful smile and moves around the room, slowly picking up and packing the clothing into the duffel bags, but only stopping when her phone vibrates. She moves to it and picks it up, thumbing across the screen and smiling at whatever was sent.

"Who's that?" Santana asks, intrigued as Elijah burps over her shoulder. There's going to be more drool there now, but that's part of having a baby, right?

"Rachel. She said she wants to come over as soon as we're back."

"Oh hell no, she ain't holding my kid," Santana defends, hand reaching up to cup the back of Eli's head.

Brittany just throws her a look.

* * *

Santana's on the edge of her seat from the moment Brittany hands Elijah to Rachel. Her nails dig into the arms of the chair she's in and her eyes never stray from the brunette as she sings quietly into his ear and strokes his head tenderly. Admittedly, Rachel's actually handling Eli a lot better than Santana expected, and she can tell just from this that Rachel's already in love with the idea of having a kid, which makes Santana smirk as her eyes drift to Quinn, who's sitting on the sofa and staring wide eyed at her fiancee. She's totally crapping it.

Santana kicks the bottom of the sofa to grab her friends attention. "You look like you're shitting bricks over there."

Hazel eyes slide in her direction. "Swear to God if I get home and she asks for a kid I'm gonna kick your ass, Lopez."

"I didn't do shit," she defends, lifting her hands beside her in a surrendering gesture. "We've been expecting this for nine months so you should've prepared for it."

Quinn glares at her until Santana looks away and laughs, eying her wife in the kitchen. They've been home for most of the day now and surprisingly enough it was Brittany that told Rachel and Quinn that they couldn't come over until the evening because they needed to settle in and everything. Quinn said it was fair and Rachel complained; no shock there.

"You don't want kids, then?"

"I do, just... Not yet. It's too soon. Plus I don't want to become a sap just yet."

"I'm not a sap," Santana snaps but relaxes when Brittany's eyes slide in her direction. "And we thought that having baby would've been too soon, too, but," she shrugs to pause her sentence. "Eli really is the best thing that's ever happened to us. Beside you know, falling in love and all that romantic crap."

"Charming, Santana," Quinn fires back but reaches for her bottle of beer, taking a long pull. "And I know but we don't have the advantages that you two did," she nods to Santana's groin. "So ours won't be a surprise."

Santana leans over and smacks her friend on the back of the head. "Shut it, Q. You're making it sound like it was a bad thing."

"Shit, Lopez, there was no need for that," her friend complains, rubbing the back of her head and glowering. "And it's not like you were planning for Eli, was it?"

"No, but it was a welcome surprise."

Hazel eyes roll and Santana smirks as she settles back into the chair, watching Brittany glide into the room and drop a kiss to Elijah's head before telling Rachel it's time for his feed now. Santana instantly jolts up from her chair and grabs the nursing pillow, letting her wife take her previous seat and setting the pillow in her lap before reaching for Elijah.

Except Rachel twirls away and Santana dips her head, eyebrow lifting.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling a baby, Santana," Rachel says moving past her to get to Brittany.

"And I'm perfectly capable of making sure you never see the light of day, Hobbit, so give me my son."

The threat works apparently because Rachel stares at her wide eyed before holding out Elijah and letting Santana take him. She instantly melts the moment he's in her arms, and she coos, running her thumb across his tanned cheek as she walks toward her wife. She bends into a crouch, and slowly passes him to Brittany, dropping a kiss to his tiny little nose before, and when she straightens up she realizes Quinn's smirking at her from across the room.

"What you staring at, Fabgay?" Santana spits, straightening up.

Quinn smirks. "And you said you weren't a sap."

Santana just throws a pillow at her.

* * *

Later on when they've put Elijah to bed in their room which may or may not have taken like, forty five minutes because Santana nor Brittany wanted to part with their son, and Rachel and Quinn have gone, they're getting ready for bed, brushing their teeth and bumping their hips together, smirking at each other in the mirror.

They both spit out at the same time, holding their hair behind their neck and Santana grins at her wife, unable to resist leaning over and stealing a kiss as they pull back.

Brittany tilts her head the moment Santana pulls back. "What was that for?"

She shrugs. "For being you, I don't know," she tries, not entirely sure why she did that. She just loves Brittany.

Brittany's face lights up and she switches off the tap with one hand whilst the other curls around a tanned neck, cupping it and tugging on it until they're kissing again, this time a little deeper, a lot slower, and a lot longer. Santana's mind begins to dizzy and her eyes flutter as a warm wet tongue flicks against her lip. She hasn't kissed Brittany like this in three days, and for them that's like two weeks. She smiles against her wife's mouth, giggling when the blonde presses closer, their chests pushing up against each other and Brittany squirms as tanned fingertips dip beneath the hem of her top, tracing up her ribs and around to the small of her back.

But all good things come to an end, especially with their newborn son in the other room and Santana breaks the kiss, breathing hard and ignoring the way arousal throbs through her. When Brittany was pregnant, they were at it like rabbits and Santana knows she's got a long road ahead of her.

Six weeks of no sex since Brittany gave birth and despite desperately wanting to have a quickie with her wife in the bathroom right now, they can't. It's by their doctors orders and she's sure Brittany's not exactly feeling up to it with the soreness, but she can handle it. She went over a month without sex with Sophie so this? She can handle. Even if she wants Brittany a million more times than she ever wanted Sophie.

And they have other priorities right now, too, which is definitely a good thing, even if that priority is currently asleep.

"Come on," she pants, licking her lips, shaking her head and stepping back completely, offering out a hand. "Let's go to bed."

Brittany smiles and grabs the tanned hand with both of hers, bouncing as they both enter the bathroom and slide into bed, gravitating to the middle and wrapping themselves up in each other. Their noses squash together and Santana lets her eyes fall shut as she inhales the scent of vanilla and honeycomb wafting up from Brittany's scent. Her heart flutters and she can't help but press their lips together quickly, letting her lips brush up and catch Brittany's nose as she pulls away, earning a quiet giggle that makes her stomach flip and a smile grow across her face.

"Hey, San?"

Santana blinks and looks over her shoulder toward the cot, just in case. "Yeah, Britt?"

"We've got our own family."

It's said with such excitement and joy that Santana almost jumps up and starts doing the celebratory dance that always makes Brittany laugh so hard her lungs begin hurting, but she resists it and instead pull her wife closer with the arm wrapped around a slim waist and nuzzles into her cheek.

"Yeah, baby, we've got our own family now," she whispers, lips ghosting over Brittany's.

And she almost gets to kiss her. Almostbeing the key word because the moment she moves in closer, Elijah begins crying from across the room and Brittany pulls back, eyes frantic and shocked. But Santana just pushes a hand to her shoulder and presses her down to the bed, dropping a peck to her lips and whispering "I've got it" as she rolls out off the mattress and heads over to the cot.

It doesn't matter if she doesn't get any sleep, though.

It doesn't matter if she has to spend fifteen minutes wandering around the house with Elijah on her shoulder and her hand patting his back, either.

It doesn't even matter if she has to pick up a triple espresso and glug down a gallon of coffee tomorrow morning.

It just doesn't matter.

Because she's finally got the perfect family.

And _that _is all that matters.

* * *

**Did you enjoy it? Leave a comment if you please lovelies :)**


	11. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Title: **Home Is Where The Heart Is  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Word Count: **6.1k  
**Summary: **She leans against the wall of her shower, out from beneath the spray of the water and waits for it to warm up as she sighs and shakes her head at her own thoughts. Showers at Brittany's are so much better. Part of the_ If It Hurts This Much_ Universe!

**Notes: **This is set way back, in Chapter 29 of_ If It Hurts This Much _before Santana proposes and after they come back from their weekend away. Just thought I'd do a little filler chapter for it!

* * *

**June 2019**

Santana and Brittany are lying on the sofa. Yeah, they're making out, but that's not out of the ordinary.

Santana's lying on her back, one arm beneath the pillow supporting her head with the other drifting over the smooth skin of Brittany's lower back, nails scratching gently. Brittany's on top of her, arms tucked between them and their lips are moving steadily, just brushing and smiling against each other as there's no need to go any further because they're both content with just being together. Just kissing and touching appropriately.

It's only been a month and a half since they've become official, but every day has been like a dream. Waking up with Brittany by her side is just the most incredible feeling and honestly, she never thought she could feel this way about someone. She didn't think it was humanly possible to feel this way about someone because it was something only epic romance novels wrote about. But this... Brittany in her arms and Brittany on her lips... Shit. She can't even begin to explain it.

Their kiss is slow, and deep, and when oxygen becomes a necessity, Brittany pulls back but keeps close, their noses squashing together and lips ghosting over one another as they stare into each others eyes. Neither of them need to vocalize the declaration of love, because it's quite obviously there behind dark brown and crystal blue. It's one of the best things about them, Santana thinks, and she can't help but fall in love with Brittany more and more everyday because of that (and a million other things, too.)

Except as always, something has to break the moment and it just happens to be the buzzing sound of Santana's cell phone. Letting out a loud groan, she takes her hand out from beneath Brittany's tank top and reaches to the floor to grab it, thumbing the screen and stilling when she sees who the text's from. Brittany must notice the sudden change in atmosphere because she pulls back, fair eyebrows scrunching together and eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"Who's it from?" She asks, tilting her head to the side.

Santana wets her lips. "Sophie," she says rather shortly.

She doesn't even need to let her eyes drift to her girlfriend to gauge Brittany's reaction. Just waits for Brittany to speak.

"What does she want?"

"Erm," Santana blinks as she reads over the text, suddenly unsure of her feelings for more than one reason. "Just telling me she's completed moved out now. The keys are with the guy at the front desk."

"_Oh. _Does that mean_—_" Brittany's face scrunches together as she pauses, shifting and pull back a little. "Does that mean you're... moving back?"

They stare at each other for a long moment, and Santana knows the exact same thought is running through both their minds. She knew living together wasn't going to be a permanent thing between them, not at this point in their relationship anyway, but she never really put any thought into moving out. They've been living together for a month and a half, and that was already over the time Sophie had said she needed, but Santana never complained. Hell, she was relieved when Sophie text her a few weeks back to say she needed more time. It gave Santana more time with Brittany, more time to cherish being with her almost constantly and so she never even said anything to her girlfriend about it. Just kept living with her.

Except now it's come up, and Santana doesn't really have a reason to stay here anymore. They've been dating for less than two months, and every morning, Santana's woken up to warm lips kissing her back into consciousness, and every night she's gone to sleep with a smile on her face and the most incredible woman in her arms, and it's been magical. There's nothing inside of her that wants to go back to her own apartment, to falling asleep and waking up alone. Absolutely nothing.

But she guesses they should probably have some time apart considering they haven't been dating long. Moving in together would be way too soon in terms of normal relationships, and yeah, they're not exactly the standard couple considering their past and all that jazz, but doesn't that mean they have even more reason to abide by some of the normal dating rules?

There's no point in even arguing with herself over the question. She knows the right answer.

"I... I guess so," Santana says, uncertainty wavering her voice. "I mean, all my stuff's there, so..."

She trails off, leaving time for Brittany to add on a few words, maybe along the lines of "but I'm here" or something alike. But Brittany doesn't, and Santana just offers wraps her arms around her girlfriend as Brittany puts her head on her chest, both of them thinking the same thing but neither saying a thing.

* * *

The next day, Santana's packing all her clothes and belongings back into the duffel that's been tucked away in the back of the closet for the past month and a half. Brittany's sitting on the bed beside the bag, sorting out the clothing as Santana packs it with the saddest expression Santana's ever seen. It's half-way between tears and half-way between regret, and all she wants to do is wrap the blonde up in her arms, dive beneath the covers and stay there for eternity.

There are many flaws in that plan, though, and she can't help but make a note of all of them.

"You don't have to go today," Brittany says, her voice low and sad.

Santana pauses at the dresser, twisting her neck to peer at her girlfriend. "I know, baby. But the longer I stay here, the more it'll suck when I leave."

"It sucks that you're leaving now."

"I know," she says, walking back toward the bed and the duffel bag, dropping the clothes in favor of sliding her hand along Brittany's jaw until blue eyes meet her brown ones. "But it's like ripping off the band aid."

Fair eyebrows scrunch together, a pink bottom lip jutting out further into the most adorable pout. "Just keep the band aid on and stay here," Brittany replies, tugging on a tanned hand until Santana's forced to sit beside her.

"Babe," Santana whispers, brushing back blonde hair. "We can't spend all our time together."

"Why not?"

"It's not healthy for couples to do that."

Blue eyes drop to their tangled fingers. "I don't care," Brittany pouts. "I just wanna be with you."

Heart expanding, Santana sighs and wraps her arms around her girlfriend, pulling her close and dropping kisses into golden hair. "I'll be back tomorrow, babe. I've just gotta sort out some things at the house."

Brittany hums into her neck, nuzzling gently but doesn't speak any further, and Santana kind of hates that. She knows her girlfriend's putting up a fight for her but in all honestly, she wants to stay here, too. In fact, she's actually having to bite her tongue right now from spilling the question "move in with me" because she wants to be around Brittany that much. There's not a moment she can see in the near future, or far away future for that matter, where she's not going to want to come back to blue eyes and a bright smile and feel all the shit wash off her from her day as Brittany kisses her hello.

She just can't see it and she tips Brittany's chin and brings theirs mouths together softly, before pulling back, pecking Brittany's nose and earning a laugh, then proceeds to push up from the bed, gather the rest of her belongings and sling the three duffel bags over her shoulders. When she turns to her girlfriend, pink lips are drooped and blue eyes are sad as they stare at her, but she just moves back to Brittany, crouching in front of her and taking both hands between hers.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Britt Britt. I promise."

It even hurts to say but Brittany doesn't object anymore and nods, slowly getting up and taking Santana's hand as she's lead through the apartment and to the front door. They turn to each other when it's open, standing in the entrance and Santana swings their hands between them, biting on her bottom lip and waiting, no, hoping, that Brittany will refuse to let her leave. Maybe Brittany will grab her arm, tug her back in and even lock her in the bedroom to keep her there, but it doesn't happen though, and she just inhales deeply, shaking her head and desperately withholding the urge to blurt out her moving in proposal.

"I'll be back as soon as I wake up, okay?" She reassures, watching her girlfriend pinch her lips up at the side.

"Okay," Brittany drawls out through a long exhale. Her eyes flicker up to meet Santana's. "I'll miss you."

That brings a soft smile to Santana's face and she leans forward, innocently pressing her lips to Brittany's warm ones and holding, her eyes fluttering shut as her girlfriend kisses back, pushing a little harder into her. They stay like that for a few long seconds, but Santana breaks first, rubbing her lips together to capture the last taste of her girlfriend before she releases their clasped hands and slides a thumb beneath the strap of the duffel, holding them as she descends down the stoop.

At the bottom, she pauses and turns, calling Brittany's name to grab the blondes attention.

"I love you," she murmurs. "By the way."

Brittany sighs, tips her temple against the door frame and smiles softly. "I love you, too," she replies, and Santana still feels the newness of that inside of her, flipping her stomach and making her heart flutter.

Still, she just gazes at her girlfriend for another long moment before she begins to walk away.

Back to a house that doesn't feel like home.

* * *

She kind of wishes that it were dark, that it were night time or raining or something because then her melancholy would be acceptable as it fitted in with the universe and possibly, weather.

But it's not. It's just gone noon and she steps inside her apartment, feeling a chill creep down her spine as she throws her keys to the side table that isn't there. They drop to the floor with a metallic clang and she whips her head round, realizing that it's at Brittany's apartment that the side table is there. Not her own. She's just been there for so long she'd forgotten what it was like at this place. At her apartment.

She bends down to pick them up and walks further into the place, unable to push away the emptiness and coldness of it. It's eery and she's only been here two minutes but she already fucking hates it. Her keys are thrown onto the sofa, along with the duffel bags she's carrying and she takes a look around, noting that Sophie hasn't taken any of the furniture. She's thankful in some ways, because she pretty much did pay for all of it considering it was her apartment before it was her and Sophie's, but at the same time she was hoping everything would be gone so she had an excuse to go back to Brittany's tonight.

She can't keep thinking like that though, and so she decides to start sorting some things out like moving around the furniture to how she wants it because Sophie did it the way she wanted. Like painting the walls to a color she wants because she really isn't down with this lilac shade on the walls of the living room.

And who knows, maybe it'll make the place feel more homey?

* * *

Turns out there isn't any paint in the apartment and so she has to go out to a hardware store to pick up a can.

But she finds the right color for her, picks up a few rollers and paintbrushes and decides to head back and get started, pushing back the urge to ring Brittany to ask if she wants to help redecorate.

She changes into old, denim overalls and ties her hair back in a high pony, planting her hands on her hips and staring at the furniture that she knows she should cover because her painting skills aren't exactly on point.

So after all the furniture is pushed to the center, and a white cloth is draped over all of it, she begins painting.

* * *

All the walls are finished five hours later, and her hands are back on her hips as she surveys her work.

She actually thinks she got more paint on herself than she did on the walls, but there are two coats on there so it'll do for today. Plus, the sun's going down and artificial light always tends to make painted walls look differently so maybe if they're not completely right by tomorrow morning, she'll put another coat on.

With the last bit of available daylight, she slips some latex gloves on and begins moving the furniture back, except the desk that goes against the wall stays a good distance away to make sure any still-drying paint doesn't mark it.

Ten minutes and that's finished, and she decides to head for the shower. The water's too cold and she winces the second the water hits her skin, forgetting that here she has to adjust the temperature here after Sophie broke it and the superintendent never came to fix it. At Brittany's it just stays on automatic and she always climbs into a nice, warm shower, one that soothes her aching muscles and one that only two minutes into it, arms wrap around her waist and kisses trail up the left side of her neck.

She leans against the wall of her shower, out from beneath the spray of the water and waits for it to warm up as she sighs and shakes her head at her own thoughts.

Showers at Brittany's are so much better.

* * *

After changing into heavy track pants and a superman t-shirt, Santana makes her way to the fridge and finds that it's void of any groceries.

She shouldn't find it that surprising because even when she and Sophie were together, Sophie would never pick up any food and Santana was always left ordering in a takeout.

Which, apparently, is what she's doing tonight.

She rings Mr. Chows and orders the regular, fighting back the sadness pushing on her chest when she has to correct her order to make it for one, and has to tell him that no, it's just her tonight and there's no 'Miss Brittany' with her. He just makes a cheery comment back and she hums awkwardly, asking for the total even though she knows it already before hanging up.

A unopened beer rests in her left hand as she wanders into the living room, grabbing the TV remote and flicking on some horror movie as she cracks it open and takes a long pull.

For the second time that night, she debates ringing Brittany because it's just not the same without her, but then she looks at the clock on her phone and remembers Brittany will be teaching a dance class at the moment.

It wouldn't really be much different if she were at Brittany's anyway, she'd still be on her own, but she knows deep down that it would feel a lot warmer and a lot more like home if she were there.

She doesn't want to think about though, and just settles back into the couch, taking another large sip of her beer and fights her thoughts.

* * *

Later on she's in bed.

And shit, does this suck.

She's on the left side, because that's _her _side, and the entire right side is untouched. The sheets aren't crumpled up, and the pillows aren't darted around randomly, and she almost does it to make it look like Brittany was here but figures that's a little sad and just stares at it instead.

For the past two hours she's been trying to sleep, but everything just feels too cold, too empty, too quiet with Brittany and she's just become restless.

Luckily, the God's seem to be shining down at her at that moment, or Brittany's just a really, really awesome and intuitive girlfriend because her phone vibrates on the beside table and lights up seconds later. She reaches over to grab it, finding a picture of Brittany with her phone propped against the headboard on screen, looking down at the bed and showing how the entire left half is empty and smooth, just like the right of Santana's bed is. Her heart clenches and she smiles softly, but whines noisily when she thinks about how she wants to be there. Below the picture is a caption and she takes a moment to read it.

_It doesn't feel the same without you :( xxx  
_

She doesn't even hesitate before she's FaceTiming Brittany.

Brittany picks up after the third ring, and they don't even greet each other for the first few seconds, just stare at the low quality versions of each other through the screen before Santana sighs heavily and Brittany pouts before speaking.

_"I don't like this,"_ the blonde says through the screen, blue eyes sad and peering up through thick lashes.

Santana frowns. "Me neither, B."

_"Then why did you leave!"_

It's said in a high pitched whine but there's a smile on her girlfriend's face. "I had to, B. I've got my own apartment."

_"Well you shouldn't. Your apartment is stupid."_

She giggles at how childish her girlfriend sounds but it's utterly adorable and even though Brittany's a dork, Santana shifts and begins talking again without even thinking about her words.

"Well unless you wanna move in together baby, this is how it's gonna be."

She doesn't even realize what she just said until she finishes shuffling up the bed, wiggling to get into a more comfortable position and finds Brittany staring back at her in a daze.

"What?"

_"You..."_ Brittany's eyes slide off past the screen, her mind going with it and Santana gnaws on her lip, almost choking on the breath she takes when she realizes what she said. _"You just said..."_

"Shit, no, I... I, uh—I didn't mean... We haven't—It's stupid," she shakes her head, looking down at herself. "Forget I said anything."

_"No, don't,"_ Brittany retorts, instantly, but she's still in deep thought, staring past the camera. They come back a moment later, meeting Santana's through the screen and suddenly their conversation is a lot more serious than it was before. _"What... What if I wanted to?"_

Santana gulps. "I mean... If you're up for it—If you wanna do it then... I think it's something worth acting on," she replies, honestly, keeping strong eye contact with her girlfriend.

She was going to suggest it earlier... Like, she wanted to ask but she thought it would freak Brittany out. After all, they have only been dating for a month and a half and that's soon to be even thinking about it, let alone actually doing it, but shit. This is her and Brittany she's talking about. This isn't just a girl she met at a club, this is the girl she's been in love with for as long as she can remember. This is the girl that isn't only her soul mate and the sole love of her life, but her best friend, too. This is the girl that makes Santana her, the one that makes her the best she can possibly be without even trying to make her like that, and it's utterly ridiculous to think that they should abide by regular relationship rules.

_"Lets do it."_

Santana's pulled from her thoughts and blinks at the camera. "What?" Her mind catches up and she gasps, excitement buzzing through her and momentarily paralyzing her. "You want to? You wanna move in together?"

White teeth tug at a pink lip. _"Yeah,"_ Brittany beams through a grin. _"Yeah."_

"We're moving in together?" Santana squeaks, bolting into a seated position. Shit. Is this actually happening? They're moving in together?

_"Yeah, Santana, we're moving in together."_

It's almost all too overwhelming and she jolts from the bed, propping the phone up so the camera's locked on her as she begins doing a celebratory dance. Brittany's giggle flows out from the speakers and it spurs Santana on as she wiggles her hips and begins pumping her arms, twisting around in a circle. It's stupid, and she knows she looks stupid, but she just can't find it in her to care. This is her being happy so fuck it. She's going to celebrate with this ridiculous dance.

After a few minutes, she's panting and she flops down on the bed again, picking her phone up and angling it towards her to see her girlfriend's face again, which is currently scrunched up, nose wrinkled and teeth showing as she laughs her ass off. She begins laughing too, but finds she doesn't have the energy left and groans, clutching at her stomach since she was laughing and dancing and now she's kind of exhausted.

_"San..."_ Brittany whines but it's playful. Her laughter begins to die down and she wipes at the corner of her eyes, flipping onto her back and holding it above her face. _"You're such a dork."_

Santana flashes a toothy and very cheesy grin. "It's why you love me."

_"I do love you,"_ her girlfriend agrees but then blue eyes tint with some Santana knows very well and her smile twists into a smirk. _"And that's why I think if you have enough energy to do that little dance of yours, you can come over here,"_ she pauses by tilting the camera slightly, allowing a view of her body, tangled in the sheets of the right hand side of the bed. Santana gulps audibly. _"The bed's just too tidy, San,"_ she brings the camera back to her face. _"So I'm thinking we could mess it up and celebrate together,"_ she purrs through a suggestive smirk, biting on her lower lip._ "Does that sound good, baby?"_

Arousal punches through Santana, bottoming out between her legs and she feels herself growing already. Fuck. Her girlfriend is amazing. "I'll be there in ten," she blurts out, stumbling out the bed and tripping as the sheet wraps around her ankle.

Her phone manages to stay in hand though, and when she hears a giggle and glances up, she finds her girlfriend moving the phone again, tipping it to show how her own hand is gliding down her clothed abs, the tips of her fingers pausing and flicking at the waistband of her very small, almost not even there panties.

_"Make it five or I'll start without you."_

And Santana all about comes as Brittany raises the camera and winks before hanging up.

Her eyebrows raise and she scrambles off the floor in a rush, only stopping for a coat and shoes as she bolts out the door, slamming it behind her.

She's never run so damn fast in her life.

* * *

The image she's greeted with when she gets to Brittany's bedroom after practically fucking sprinting through the apartment is great.

In fact, it's really fucking great and she's sure her eyes pop out of her damn head as she stops in her tracks, lips parted and eyes solely focused on her girlfriend, lying in bed, touching herself. A strong hand is between two milky thighs as Brittany works her own fingers against her glistening center. Her eyes are clenched shut, teeth biting on her lip and head tilted back and Santana swears to the heavens that there's nothing hotter on this earth than seeing this.

Tanned hands begin to insistently push at Santana's boxers, a full on erection springing free and she doesn't hesitate in stepping out of each leg hole and almost falling over as she makes her way toward the bed, ridding herself of her tank top and climbing onto it when she gets there. A flush scorches across the skin the closer she gets to her girlfriend, and Brittany doesn't even flinch as the mattress dips, which makes Santana thinks she knows she's already here and it just gets her even more fired up as she crawls up the bed, grabbing at Brittany's wrist to stop her as her own eyes drift down to see slender fingers covering the softest part of her.

A disgruntled noise escapes Brittany's mouth and by the time Santana looks up, dark blue eyes are staring straight at her, a smirk playing on Brittany's face.

"You were late," she whispers, arousal coating her tone and Santana just looks at her, pushing her other hand up the plane of her girlfriend's flat stomach, urging the top over her head until blonde hair litters across the pillow.

"By like a minute," Santana comments, reaching down to grab at herself as she settles between long legs.

Hands come up to her neck, fingers toying too innocently with the hairs at the back of her neck as she presses the tip of her dick to Brittany's clit, earning a satisfying whimper from her. Brittany's chest heaves, skin shines and hips buck up when Santana repeats the motion.

"You've gotta make it up to me," Brittany points out and Santana knows that, which is why without another thought she lowers her hips and slides into her, feeling Brittany arch into her as she buries herself in as deep as possible, their foreheads tipping together.

"How's that for an apology?"

Brittany's eyes flutter as Santana grinds her hips down, the hand in dark hair tightening. "You're al—most making up fo—for it..." she stutters through a moan as Santana pulls out almost all the way and pushes back in slowly, drawing out the pleasure that etches its way across her girlfriend's face.

"Only almost?" She teases, lowering her head to brush her lips over Brittany's. "How about this..."

Pink lips part when nothing happens for a long moment, but then Santana sits back on her knees, slipping out momentarily and groaning to herself but enjoying the way Brittany snaps her head up and props herself on her elbows, her expression asking "what the fuck?" without her mouth doing it. But Santana just smirks, reaching down to grab herself, ensuring she's not going to come at the sight of her girlfriend's glistening center right in front of her and pulls on Brittany's hips until her ass and lower back are resting on her thighs.

Her free hand rests on tight abs, and Santana lets it drift down, thumb rubbing quick circles around Brittany's clit until pale hands snap down and stop the movement. Nails scrape against her forearm and down to her wrist, and she knows what that means but it's just so fucking hot to tease her girlfriend.

"Santana," Brittany calls, voice low and serious. Santana just smirks, pretending like she doesn't know what that tone means.

"Yes, Britt Britt?"

Tiny whimpers escape her girlfriend's lips as her thumb switches from firm, quick circles to slow, wide ones.

"Just..." comes out through heavy, labored breaths. "Please..." Brittany begs, her head throwing back and nails digging into tanned skin.

And who would Santana be to refuse that?

The legs around her waist tighten as she shifts forward, pressing the tip of her cock in but stopping, sliding her hands up to slim hips to tug on them, sliding further into her girlfriend as Brittany's body comes closer to her. The heat and tightness covering her makes a low, guttural groan escapes her lips, heat building at the nape of her neck but it's too hot now. She's been teasing for too long and now she's filled with animalistic need and her stomachs tight with red hot arousal.

Her hips begin to rut slowly, picking up the pace as she goes on and her thumb resumes it's movement, the pad rolling over Brittany's clit until Brittany's hips begin to jerk into each movement. She tries to keep it steady, but then Brittany begins moaning into the air, and slaps a palm over her forehead as the other hand clutches onto Santana's wrist, and it just sets her off. She begins rutting into her girlfriend, feeling everything, how hot, how deep she is inside of Brittany as she cants her hips, sliding in and out of her and feeling the pressure build and build within.

Brittany squirms and Santana's jaw drops open at the sight of her girlfriend. She can't seem to focus on anything and even though pleasure is coursing through herself, watching Brittany is so fucking hot. A smile comes to her lips, knowing how good she can make her girlfriend feel and begins to rock her hips in deliberate circles, grunting when the blonde arches into her, hips pushing further and Santana's cock sliding deeper until she's forced to fuck her harder and harder.

Moans and groans fill the room, and it's not long before Brittany's tipped over the edge, reaching up to grab at any part of Santana as she screams, her entire body quaking violently as Santana bottoms outside inside of her, keeping still and feeling her girlfriend clench around her with a vice grip as she comes. The image and the feel only heightens Santana's arrival and she follows a few seconds later with two quick thrusts, her body still and tensing as she lets go, letting pleasure sizzle through her as she pours herself into her girlfriend.

Both their bodies droop at the same time, Santana falling forward, her nose pressing into Brittany's breastbone and breaths hitting pale, sweaty skin.

Brittany just giggles and runs her hands through damp, dark locks until Santana lifts up, settles between long legs and kisses her girlfriend, slow, sloppy and so, so deep.

* * *

A little while later, they're snuggled up, lying on their sides. Brittany's leg is hitched up against Santana's hip, calf curled over her lower back and Santana's hand is rubbing up and down the length of it, caressing smooth skin and shifting closer until their noses are squashed together, bodies as close as possible.

"So... Where are we gonna live?"

Santana smiles, heart fluttering and leans in to kiss Brittany softly, her thumb swiping over a pink bottom lip as she pulls away. "I was thinking here."

"Yeah?"

"I mean... If that's cool. I just... I just don't like my apartment," she explains, eyes drifting off. "I made too many mistakes there," she admits, the skin around her jaw tightening.

Fingers trace along her jawline gently, trying to loosen it and it works. She breathes out heavily, shakes the feeling off and continues.

"I just—It was mine... Then Sophie's and mine and I don't want that." Brittany tilts her head into the pillow, eyes narrowing. "I just want a place that's mine and yours, y'know?" Santana squeezes a strong thigh to emphasize her words. "I just want somewhere we can call our own and... I don't know," she ducks her chin slightly. "This is where things started. This is where we had our first kiss." She grabs Brittany's hands and pulls it between their chests, thumb rubbing over pale knuckles. "This is where we first... slept together," she whispers like it's a secret. Brittany giggles and pecks her nose. "It's just... This place has significance for us, you know?" Her eyes meet blue ones and she scrunches her face up, almost fearing the answer as she asks, "Is that okay?"

Blue eyes sparkle and Santana knows that's a yes before she even hears it. Lips, warm and soft, brush over hers, and she breathes out unevenly when she back away, only to lean in one more time to press a firm kiss to her own lips. Her hand slides back down to a strong thigh, pulling Brittany further into her and closer as she pushes into the kiss, inhaling deeply through her nose and sighing when Brittany smiles against her mouth, her hand coming up to tangle through dark locks, deepening the kiss and stroking their tongues together until they both have to pull back, panting for air.

Even then though, they just stay close, both of them letting it sink in that they're moving in together.

They're actually moving in together. Officially.

Fuck, that feels good.

"So," Santana starts but stops to clear her throat, ridding the sudden raspiness that kiss bought to it. "When do you want me to move in?"

Brittany's face brightens at the phrasing. "As soon as possible," she murmurs, stroking her nose over Santana's.

"So next week?"

Brittany sucks in her top lip, eyes clouding with thought. "Too long," she decides on a few beats later.

Santana grins and tilts her chin to brush her lips over a cold nose. "This weekend?" She whispers.

A hand comes up to tip her face back down and Brittany stares into her eyes, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth before drifting them alone a tanned jawline and pausing when her lips are brushing the shell of Santana's ear. "How about tomorrow?" She counters, voice wavering slightly with nerves.

Santana pulls back enough to stare at her girlfriend in the eye, maybe to see a joke or to see the tell-tale signs of teasing but nope, nothing there but complete seriousness. It makes her heart thump louder and harder against her chest, and she knows if this were any other girl, she'd be freaking out. This is what grown ups do. This is what people do when they're in the relationship for the long run and like she said, if it were any other girl she'd be doubting herself. But it's not just any other girl, it's Brittany, her soul mate, the love of her life. It's Brittany and nothing sounds better than knowing that tomorrow, they're going to be living together.

So she begins bobbing her head excitedly and scrunches up her nose when Brittany's face twists into the second of the 'fives smiles' — the excited one. Her cheeks rise immediately and that adorable little crinkle forms above her eyebrow as the rest of her face stretches into the largest grin, and Santana physically feels herself falling more and more in love with her girlfriend, even though she thought that weren't possible.

"I could do that," she tells Brittany, a second before Brittany bounces excitedly and surges forward, her hand coming up to tangle through dark hair as their mouths come together in an almost bruising kiss, conveying all the emotions both of them are feeling at this moment.

Because tomorrow? That's where their life really begins.

* * *

**Comments would be welcomed :) thanks for reading!**


	12. Baths and Made Up Songs

**Title: **Baths and Made Up Songs**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
Word Count: **2.2k**  
Summary: **And really, Santana could just watch these two all day. Part of the _If It Hurts This Much _universe!

**Notes: **One from my beta again... Thought we had to fill in the gap until the next update so here it is! This is short and sweet, so enjoy mis amigos!

* * *

"Britt?"

Her head turns, eyes searching around the room but there's no sign of her wife.

"Britt, babe, you here?"

It's a Friday afternoon, and Santana's managed to get off work early after Quinn said something about wanting to take Rachel away for the weekend. Didn't really peak Santana's interest too much but she didn't complain as it meant they could both leave, go home and see their respective other halves which, y'know, is about a million times better than trying to come up with song lyrics; and not to mention Santana's also got a little man at home she's been dying to cuddle since she left at 8am this morning.

So yeah, she's at home now, and she's just walked in the door, thrown her blazer over the back of the couch and is now wandering around. Where the hell is her wife?

"Baby?"

There's no answer, but as she walks further through the apartment, she hears the tell-tale signs of trickling water and splashing and a soft smile curves at her lips. Her hand pushes lightly against the bathroom door when she gets there, and she stops the moment it opens, staring at one of the best things that's even been witnessed.

Brittany giving Elijah a bath.

Her heart expands, fluttering inside of her and she tilts her head to the side slowly, keeping her breathing quiet so she can't be heard as she just watches.

Brittany's kneeling by the side of the bath, leaning over the side of the white porcelain with one hand cupping the back of Elijah's neck and the other swishing a sponge about in the water that barely reaches Elijah's belly button. There aren't any bubbles or soap in the water, and she smiles at the memory of reading over that chapter in the _'So You're Having A Baby' _book when Brittany was twenty four weeks pregnant because Brittany was horrified that their baby wouldn't be able to play around with the bubbles seeing as that was her favorite part when she was a kid. If it hadn't been for her and Santana sharing a bath and making the best out of it, it would probably still be her favorite part of baths.

A thought pops into her brain and she fishes into her pants pocket for her phone, flicking on the silent button and wincing when the cell vibrates in her hands. Apparently Brittany's too caught up with humming something beneath her breath and bathing their baby to notice, so Santana just proceeds slowly and quietly, opening the camera app and directing it towards her wife and son, deciding that this is something she needs on film.

"_Hey little baby, you've got no bubbles..."_

Santana straightens up and sucks in a breath at the sound of her wife's voice, suddenly glad she decided to begin filming this. She knows this is going to be something she's going to watch over and over again in the near future because Brittany's singing to Elijah, picking up the sponge and squeezing all the water over Elijah's body, soothing it slowly straight after. It really is one of the most wonderful sights, especially when Elijah's face scrunches up, his small, chubby little hands waving about to grab at Brittany's hand as she moves her hand away, dipping back to the water surrounding him.

"_If your mama was here and there were, we'd both be in trouble..."_

A chuckle threatens to escape Santana's mouth but she holds it back, sucking in her lips and keeping a steady hand on her phone.

"_But now we've gotta use a cup to wash your hair..."_

Brittany drops the sponge, leaving it to float in the shallow water as she shifts, keeping her support beneath Elijah's neck and upper back with her hand, whilst she stretches to the left to grab at the small cup sitting there. She quickly fills it up with the water, wrinkling her nose when her sleeve falls down her forearm and is forced to make the best of the situation and lean down, biting the fabric and dragging it back up above her elbow, making Elijah giggle even though she's not sure a three month old can even understand what that means.

And really, Santana could just watch these two all day.

The cup tips and water sprinkles gently all over Elijah's thick, dark locks, making them flatten against his tanned skin and making Santana realize that he should probably have a hair cut soon. Even if she, or Brittany, most probably will not do that. Cutting Elijah's beautiful hair, as well as putting him within two feet of a pair of scissors is something that doesn't exactly bode well with them. They're a little protective.

"_I love you little Eli, I do declare..."_

A small yellow rubber duck floats past the water and Santana's hand snaps to her mouth, cupping it to hold back the sighed exhale that threatens to burst from within. Brittany's eyes brighten even further as she spots it, and she places down the cup and reaches for it, wiggling it's beak in front of Elijah's nose until Elijah's face breaks into a smile. Big brown eyes widen as they lock onto it and even though he doesn't have a damn clue what a rubber duck is, his tiny fingers still reach for it, his left hand curling over Brittany's fingers holding it, and the right one warily poking at the object.

_Fuck._

Santana could die with the overwhelming cuteness of this, right now.

"_Now we gotta get you out of here and get you dry..."_

She almost forgot her wife was singing, but her eyes and the phone in her hand twists toward Brittany, zooming in from where Santana's leaning against the doorway, and she just stares again as Brittany slowly lifts Elijah out the bath, hands beneath his little arms and lips moving in to press against his round stomach, blowing a raspberry against his tanned skin. His hands and toes wiggle as she does it, and she begins wrinkling her nose and chuckling too, an airy sigh coming from Elijah's mouth as water drips from him and Brittany turns in her spot, still not sensing Santana's presence as she lowers their son to the largest, fluffiest towel Santana's ever seen, spread out across the floor. He immediately curls into it, snuggling down and Brittany doesn't hesitate in folding each side over his body and tucking it into an available gap until he's toasty and warm.

Santana's weirdly jealous of Elijah right now.

Strong hands pick Elijah up, cradling him into Brittany's body as she climbs to her feet, eyes closing and other hand pressing low on Elijah's back as she begins twirling them, whispering lowly into his ear, continuing the song.

"_And this is the end of the song so please don't cry."_

This time it's too much. Watching Elijah snuggle into Brittany's shoulder, watching Brittany press her nose into Elijah's ear and that soft smile grace her lips that she always gets whenever she has a moment with Elijah. A moment that's thankful for her life and that tells Santana that she's happier than she ever thought she could be.

Santana knows the feeling.

She's so caught up in her mind and these thoughts that she doesn't even register Brittany's noticed her presence until her wife's stopped twirling around, grinning widely but still swinging her torso lightly from side to side, Elijah propped against her shoulder and her hand cupping his skill, fingers resting against his dark, drying locks of hair.

"How long have you been standing there?" Brittany whispers, and Santana can't see her son's face but she's assuming he's nodding off. He always does after a bath.

She clicks the stop button on her phone and drops her arms to her side, wandering slowly to her family.

"Long enough to know you two are the cutest thing I've ever seen," she responds, brushing the back of her fingers over Brittany's fingertips, then Elijah's hair, her other arm wrapping around Brittany's waist, hand settling on the small of her wife's back.

"You should've joined in."

Brown eyes meet blue. "I didn't want to spoil the moment," she shrugs, leaning in until her face is barely inches apart. "Hello, beautiful."

A blush covers pale cheeks and Brittany ducks her head, pushing her nose into the towel wrapped around their son.

"San..."

They can't kiss as Elijah's in the way, but Santana just scrunches her nose in a way that tells Brittany she wants to. She still doesn't know why Brittany gets all shy when Santana calls her beautiful. She never used to before Elijah but now she guesses Brittany's a little more self-conscious after child birth.

She takes a mental note to make her believe completely different as soon as possible.

"Come on," she whispers, pressing her palm against Brittany's hip as she rocks onto the balls of her feet and peers around her shoulder at Elijah. "He's asleep. Let's put him down."

Brittany nods and they both walk out into the hallway, Santana moving to let her wife past and smiling when Brittany bites her lip and ducks her head. Elijah's room is only one door down and they settle him onto the changing table, Santana quickly taking over to slide on a baby grow onto him before she lowers him into the cot, stroking her knuckles down his soft, soft cheek whilst her other hand winds around Brittany's their fingers tangling together. The blonde leans down after she's done, dropping a reverent kiss to his forehead before lifting and locking the side of the cot up, both of them exiting shortly after.

Brittany tugs on Santana's hand gently as they make their way into the hallway, but she stands strong, shaking her head, grinning and leading her wife backwards when a questioning look is shot her way.

"What are you doing?"

The grin widens. "Eli's had his bath, now we're having ours," Santana responds, pushing open the bathroom door and urging her wife inside, quickly flipping the taps on to fill the bath.

Blue eyes flicker around to brown, but there's no intense arousal flashing behind them. No animalistic need and she's cool with that. She just wants to spend time with Brittany and that's what she's going to do.

Soon enough hands are reaching for clothes, slowly removing them and dropping them to the floor, eye contact staying in tact the entire time and Santana's eyes drop down the moment the last piece of clothing is lowered down long, milky thighs. Her mouth runs dry and once she's taken in every inch of bare skin offered—twice—she glances up to find a smirk playing upon pale lips, but Brittany's arms are slowly crossing over her body, stomach especially and Santana hates that.

Childbirth changes some women, but it's had absolutely zero effect on Brittany. She's still as gorgeous as she was before, if not more. Her curves are a little more pronounce, and her breasts bigger too, but Santana really sees no different. Even if she the birth of their son had taken effect on her wife, Santana would still think Brittany was the most beautiful being to ever have existed in the history of the world.

Santana squeezes a pale hand before shimmying out of her boxers and flicking off the taps. She climbs in first, keeping her eyes locked with Brittany's the entire time and then pulls her into it too, gently lowering her until Brittany's between her legs, shuffled and pressed as close together as possible. Her hands dip beneath the water, slipping across tight abs until her palms can rest gently on top of the twitching muscles and fingers slide through her own moments later as her lips press into blonde hair.

Brittany sighs and leans into her, twisting her head until her lips are hovering dangerously close to Santana's jaw. Santana glances down, almost going cross eyed and giggling when her wife sees it.

When blue eyes stay locked on her face, curiosity peaks and she says, "What's up?"

"Nothing," Brittany shrugs and kisses the underside of her chin. "I just love you."

Santana sighs as her body sizzles, a memory rushing through her. A grin comes to her face, and she ducks her head, eyes focused on their entangled legs beneath the water and bubbles when the blonde turns to face the front again, resting the back of her head against a tanned shoulder.

"_Hey little wifey, we've got lots of bubbles..."_

Brittany giggles at the sound of her wife singing and slaps her in the arm playfully, but Santana just nuzzles down into her shoulder and says, "I just love you, too," before they delve into a comfortable silence.

* * *

**I know, short but hopefully you liked it! :)**


	13. The Best Kind Of Surprise

**Title: **The Best Kind Of Surprise  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Word Count: **3.6k  
**Summary: **It's ridiculous, and she just wants to go home because she's got the most beautiful wife and baby boy waiting at home for her, but she can't. Part of the _If If Hurts This Much _universe!

**Notes: **This is another prompt from my beta! She's a horn dog if you haven't noticed, but it's my pleasure filling these smutty prompts for her! So here you go, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Work's been hectic with Quinn releasing the first single of her second album next week, and the pile of paperwork on Santana's desk just doesn't seem to be going down no matter how long she spends on it. Hence why Santana's here in the recording studio at 10pm for the fourth time this week, stressed out her mind and wanting nothing more than a hug.

It's ridiculous, and she just wants to go home because she's got the most beautiful wife and baby boy waiting at home for her, but she can't. This stupid song needs editing and she's the only one, apart from Quinn, who knows what the end product needs to sound like. She and Quinn are the only one's who are fully qualified to operate the computer program to create the track and since Quinn's away on her damn honeymoon, the work's been left for Santana.

Really, it's just fantastic.

The chair creaks as she leans forward, finger clicking the mouse to adjust the pitch on screen. Her head bobs to the beat playing through the single headphone pressed to her ear, and she shifts her elbow to lean her head in her chin. She's so into the music, and so focused on getting this finished tonight that she doesn't hear the door open behind her until it closes and she spins around, still holding the headphone to one ear to find Brittany leaning against the door, a smirk on her face and hands playing with the tie on her long jacket.

Santana brings her head back, surprised by her wife's arrival but definitely happy because of it. "Hey, baby. What are you doing here?" Her mind registers the lack of Eli with her and she scrunches her eyebrows together. "And where's Eli?"

"Hey," Brittany draws, pushing off the door and sauntering towards Santana, throwing both legs over her hips to straddle her in the chair. "He's with my mom," she murmurs lowly, toying with the fine dark hair at the back of a tanned neck. "And I was missing you so I thought I'd come see you. That okay?"

"Definitely," Santana replies, nodding and sliding her palms up her wife's thighs but still slightly intrigued as to why the blonde's here.

Except she's so distracted with that thought that she doesn't visually notice the lack of clothing beneath Brittany's jacket until her hand slips to the inside of a strong thigh and the back of her finger feels wet heat. A gasp pops from her lips and she widens her eyes, using her other hand to lift up the bottom of Brittany's jacket to peer beneath it; and just like she thought, there's _nothing _beneath the coat. No pants, no shorts, no underwear.

Holy shit.

"Britt," she breathes, her stomach coiling and pants tightening already as her fingers twist and slide through wet heat again, just to make sure.

Brittany giggles naughtily and grins down at her, eyebrow lifting and body arching into the touch. "Like I said," she repeats, already leaning down, hand sliding around to linger on Santana's jaw to meet her halfway. "I missed you."

There's not a moments hesitation before Santana's surging forward, their mouths crashing together and tongues delving into mouths. Arousal punches through her and her hands up to the tie keeping Brittany's jacket together to pull it open. There's a little struggle, but then she's tearing it open and pushing it down Brittany's arms and then her wife's naked in her lap, smirking down at her with dark blue eyes. It's got to be the hottest thing like, ever and a flush scorches across her skin, settling low in her belly as her palms glide down a smooth back, over the curve of Brittany's ass to grab the flesh there, squeezing and massaging it.

Brittany whimpers into her mouth and she smirks, her hips jerking up into a downward grind. She shifts her hands, grasping the underside of Brittany's thighs and pushes up to stand, allowing long legs to wind around her waist. The nearest horizontal surface is the table with the computer and MIDI on top, and there's barely any space but she couldn't really give a fuck about that right now. So she moves over there, dropping Brittany onto the edge, the legs slipping from around her hips to her thighs. Brittany's back presses into the machine, and they both begin giggling into the kiss as the computer makes a weird beeping noise. Their teeth bump and noses nudge, and Santana pulls away, panting through her chuckles.

"Hold on," she says, holding a hand up.

She reaches over to the computer and flicks off the screen and the machine at the same time pale hands make a path down her stomach, flipping open her buckle and unzipping her pants so they fall around her ankles. Her back arches when Brittany's hand makes quick work of her shirt and bra, and takes a nipple into her mouth, flicking her tongue over the nub and kissing the flesh gently. Brown eyes flicker down and Santana almost comes at the sight, but knows she should probably do something more and get moving before she actually _does_ come.

Santana swallows hard and slides her palms high up Brittany's thighs, curving them inwards to the apex of her thighs to tease over her wife's clit. Brittany groans and releases Santana's nipple with a pop, throwing her head back in pleasure and edging her hips forward until Santana reads the signs and dips her finger inside her wife, thumb wandering north to circle the blonde's cit. Hips jerk and jut and Santana smirks, but then falters when a hand reaches beneath the waistband of her boxers and fists her erection, pumping her slowly until she's at full length and pushing her hips into each movement.

Her eyes fall shut and on the next outward thrust, she re-enters with two digits and curls up, biting down on her bottom lip and enjoying the sight of her wife begin pleasured way too much. The thought that in a few moments she's going to be buried inside Brittany shoots straight to her groin and she jerks into Brittany's hand. Fuck. If she keeps thinking like this she's seriously going to finish early. And that just is _not _happening.

With her free hand, she glides her palm up Brittany's abs, quickly rolling pink nipples between her thumb and forefinger and then moves up again, curling around the base of Brittany's neck to tip up so their mouths can come together. The kiss is soft, a lot softer than it should be considering how hot and ready she is, and she slowly strokes her tongue inside Brittany's mouth, only pulling back when the need for oxygen becomes too much and then removes her fingers.

Brittany groans, a crease forming in the middle of her forehead and Santana smirks at her quickly, kissing her one last time before dropping to her knees and immediately wrapping her lips around Brittany's clit. Her wife doesn't expect it and Santana has to grab onto pale thighs and push them wider and up to ensure Brittany doesn't slide off the edge of the table. A hand tangles through her hair, fingers twining at the roots and tugging as she sucks deliberately, smirking against hot flesh when Brittany bucks into her face and scratches lightly at her scalp.

"Shit... _Santana—_" Brittany's voice breaks off when Santana rolls her tongue against her, and brown eyes open to see Brittany panting heavily, her arms shaking as she tries to keep herself up and cheeks flushed a dark pink, squirming beneath Santana's skilled mouth.

It makes a pressure build low in her stomach and she almost stops moving her jaw because she's so entranced by how fucking hot Brittany looks right now, but the fingers in her hair tug and she's broken from her gaze, working her tongue faster and dipping it inside Brittany to feel when her orgasm is close. It's only a few seconds later when Brittany clenches around Santana's tongue, her legs shooting up and heels pressing into Santana's shoulders to use as leverage as she lifts her ass off the table, hips pressing into Santana's mouth as she comes hard, the syllables of her wife's name spilling from her lips through a scream.

Her body quakes violently and Santana smirks, bringing the blonde down with slow laps until Brittany falls backwards, leaning against the MIDI machine and mixing board. If Santana wasn't so caught up and hot, she'd probably realize that just because the screen's off, doesn't mean the computer is and the work she's spent hours on is mostly probably fucked up. Except she is too caught up and she stands, hands pressing into the table, cock brushing the inside of a pale thigh as she kisses Brittany, allowing her tongue to push past her lips and listening to her wife moan at the taste of herself in her mouth.

Brittany smiles into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Santana's neck and they kiss like that for a few seconds, both of them catching their breaths. The kiss is soft and gentle, Brittany's lips impossibly soft and after a few moments, Santana begins to get impatient and reaches down between them, squeezing at the base of her cock to make sure she lasts long enough. Her destination is like _right _there, but Brittany usually needs a second or two after an orgasm to prepare for the next and so Santana just waits.

And it's a good thing to, because good things come to those who wait. A hand comes down to slap hers away, and she nips Brittany's lips as she pulls away, smirking, eyesight drifting down to focus on the way Brittany's working her shaft up and down, rotating her wrist when she gets to the head. The pressure in her stomach ten folds and she lets her eyes flutter shut when Brittany slides off the counter top and gets to her knees, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her dick. Her hand continues it's motions and Santana peers down her body, eyes meeting blue ones as pink lips wrap around the top of her cock, and sink down to the base, taking all of her in.

It's all too much, watching and feeling it, and her mouth drops open, a breathy moan escaping her lips as Brittany's tongue flicks on the underside of her shaft as she pulls back, quickly moving down again and picking up a pace, bobbing up and down between Santana's legs. A tanned hand slides into blonde locks, and she pushes away the hair fallen across Brittany's face to watch her wife work her dick expertly, sucking and licking at the spots that make Santana's head tilt back, and a loud moan come from deep within.

But then her eyes widen and stomach sucks in at the sudden rise in pressure. The heat's too much and her eyes shut as she feels it coming. Literally.

Instantly she pulls away, her cock slipping from Brittany's mouth as she backs away, hitting the cabinet behind her. She's panting heavy and hard, trying to calm herself and think of anything to keep herself lasting longer. But then there's Brittany there, wiping the edge of her mouth with her thumb and standing, sauntering over to Santana and pressing their lips together, her hands coming up to cup her cheeks.

It calms Santana down for a moment and her hands fall to slim hips, thumbs rubbing over the protrusion of Brittany's hipbone. The heat doesn't go away, it can't when Brittany's near, but it cools a little, making her thighs pinch together a little less and the arousal have a lesser impact on her.

Well, that's all fine and dandy until Brittany turns around, grabs Santana's hand and walks back to the mixing board, propping one leg upon the edge of the table and revealing everything.

"Like this, baby. I want you," she licks her lips. "Like this," she purrs, bending down and resting both palms on either side of the mixing board.

And shit. Santana really isn't going to last long.

Grabbing a hold of herself, she squeezes and walks over to her wife, reaching out with her free hand to run her fingers over the arousal between her legs. Brittany moans and pushes back, and Santana gulps heavily, eying everything her wife has to offer. Seriously, she has the best fucking wife.

She moves forward, stroking herself and sliding her palm over Brittany's ass and up to her hip to grab a hold as she runs the tip of her cock through slick heat. In front of her, Brittany twists her head to look back at her, breathing heavily and biting down hard on her lips, her eyes fluttering every time Santana bumps her clit. The anticipation is so hot, and even though all she wants to do is bury herself deep inside Brittany, she loves this moment, just before entering her. She loves to see the way Brittany shifts back to feel more of her, how her fingers tighten around the desk and how she rocks, her hips almost moving in waves because she's craving Santana's touch.

A broken moan escapes Brittany's lips, breaking Santana from her thoughts and her vision drifts up, meeting blue eyes as she closes the distance between their sexes and pushes the head of her cock inside of the blonde. Brittany's back tenses and her eyes flutter, but she keeps the eye contact as Santana sinks further into her, bottoming out and waiting for Brittany, feeling her clench around her and massage her shaft. The hand on a slim hip shifts up, stroking up ribs and down the smooth expanse of her back again, and then Brittany makes this low, whining sound from the back of her throat and Santana knows she can't hold out any longer. She doesn't have the heart to.

So she begins rocking her hips, setting a fast pace seeing as Brittany's pushing back with each thrust and Santana knows that means quit with the teasing and get on with the pleasing. Her hand drifts around the front of her wife's body, slipping between her legs and she rolls the pads of her thumbs over Brittany's clit, her shaft still sliding in and out of Brittany quickly. The tip of her cock prods Brittany deep on one particular thrust, and Brittany buckles, her elbows catching her on the mixing board and forehead pressing down on some buttons but Santana's not in the mindset to care.

She just picks up the pace, fingers digging into the skin of Brittany's hips as slapping sounds resonate around the studio. Her breaths get heavier and heavier, a light layer of sweat forming over her brow and the pressure begins to spread from her stomach to her spine, bringing her higher and higher with each push and pull. Brittany squeaks beneath her, jerking her hips back as Santana works her clit in time with each thrust, and then an idea pops into Santana's mind as Brittany falls further down, arms stretching out in front of her to grab onto the top of the mixing board as her legs quiver, moans and groans and Santana's name spilling from her mouth.

Heat scorches all over Santana as she watches her wife take her, and then she gets an idea. Her hand slips from between Brittany's thighs and she brushes down Brittany's leg―the one propped up upon the edge of the desk―and thanks the lord for Brittany's flexibility as she pushes it down, spreading Brittany wider and using her as leverage to fuck her faster and deeper.

It's the right thing to do apparently, because Brittany begins to chant Santana's name, and her fingers squeeze against the hard plastic of the mixing board as she clenches around Santana, demanding more without the words. Weirdly enough, it makes Santana smile and she quickens the movements of her hips, draping herself over Brittany's back when she feels herself getting closer and closer. The tightness encompassing her cock tells her that Brittany's at the same point and she lets her fingers drift back down to circle Brittany's clit again, timing it with her movements as she works harder and harder until it's right there.

Open mouthed kisses are planted to the top of Brittany's spine, and Santana keeps it going until she's coming, forehead pushing down in the place of her kisses and hips fitting over the curve of Brittany's ass and stilling, cock pressing as deep as possible as she pours out everything she has into her wife. Her hot breath blankets smooth skin and it's five seconds before Brittany grinds back into her impatiently, needing to reach her own peak herself.

Santana giggles breathlessly but begins to move again, her hand switching between wide, slow circles to quick, tight ones. Four or five of those switches later, and Brittany breaks, her entire body quivering as her orgasm punches through her. Her hand reaches back, grabbing at Santana's hand and succeeding in doing so but knocking a pair of headphones and an empty coffee cup to the floor simultaneously. Her legs shiver and back shoots up straight, pressing into Santana's front as she comes hard, stiffening and squeezing her eyes shut and reaching back to grab at Santana's neck as she comes down from her high, deflating and sagging back into her wife.

They're breathing heavy and hard, both recovering from mind-blowing orgasms and Santana lets forehead rest against Brittany's shoulder as her palms slide over sweaty skin to settle on toned abs. She breathes out evenly for a few moments, letting her mind fizzle and sizzle as the memories of a few moments ago wash through her.

Finally, when her breathing is back to normal and her limbs have stopped twitching, she lets her hands fall to Brittany's hips and separates them, eyes drifting down to watch as she pulls out of her wife. It's probably hotter than it should be, and she licks her lips at the evident arousal covering her softening member at the same time Brittany whimpers from the loss of contact. Her wife turns around, smiles at her quickly then kisses her softly, drawing it out and sucking on her bottom lip as she pulls away, arms draping over Santana's shoulders to keep her close.

And Santana just gazes into deep blue eyes for a few moments, before she figures it's late and they should probably be getting home soon 'cause there's no way she's going to get any work done now.

"Let's go home," she whispers, pecking pink lips one last time before pulling away and slipping out from in front of Brittany, stopping when her eyes find the state of the room. "Although, we should probably clear up first."

Brittany chuckles behind her and drops a kiss to her bare shoulder as she stops beside Santana to witness what she means. And sure enough, she does.

The once tidy studio now has clothes, coffee cups and headphones spread out across the floor. The computer is off center, twisted to the side and the chair is now over in the corner, on its back (when the hell did that happen?) with the wheels up in the air. Their clothes are darted in various positions, Santana's bra on the filing cabinet and Brittany's jacket stuffed in the far corner of the desk. Neither of them are really sure how or when that happened, but Santana can't really care. It's nothing that can't be fixed and so with one final kiss, they begin clearing up.

Five minutes later and it's back to normal, clean and spic and span and both of them are fully dressed, Brittany helping Santana buckle her belt as Santana adjusts the lapels of Brittany's jacket, then moving on to make sure the tie's tight around her waist so the coat doesn't fall open. Their eyes meet when they're finished and Santana can see the smile in blue, and doesn't resist in leaning forward to suck on Brittany's top lip, tongue running along the underside of it.

"Thank you," she whispers as she pulls away, stroking her nose against a pale one affectionately.

Brittany's hands slip up from her belt to brush a lock of dark hair behind a tanned ear. "For what, baby?"

"For visiting me tonight. I really needed it."

It should be suggestive, and Brittany should lift a brow, smirk and tell her how she bets she needed the visit, but Brittany sees the deeper meaning behind Santana's words and just smiles softly, nodding into the kiss she gives her.

"I know," she murmurs. "And I really did mean it. I missed you. Eli does, too."

Santana lets her eyes close and tips their foreheads together, hating that work keeps her from the two most important people in her world. "Then we better get home," she whispers, kissing Brittany again. "But let's go pick Eli up from my mom first. I want to fall asleep with both of you in my arms," she suggests, standing back and holding out her hand with a small grin.

Brittany just does that adorable thing where she ducks her head, brushes a hand over her face and smiles before she takes the offered hand, tangles their fingers together and leads them out the studio and building.

* * *

**So... Yeah. Comments?**


	14. Where It All Started

**Title: **Where It All Started**  
Rating: **Hard R**  
Word Count: **3k**  
Summary: **She just thought sex would change something. Would change her feelings for Jenny and make them stronger or whatever, but it's not doing a single thing. Part of the _If It Hurts This Much _universe!

**Notes: **Prompt from anon, requested on my Tumblr. It was too confusing to fulfill together so I'm writing it from Santana's POV as Brittany already described what she was feeling in Chapter 21 whilst recapping on their teenage years. This was the prompt anyway: '_what about one shots from when they were kids, in high school, and college? I kinda wanna know what Santana's first time was like and what Brittany thought about it when she told her.'_ Have fun reading!

* * *

She's 15.

She's 15 and she's home alone at her girlfriends house with said girlfriend, Jenny Cooper and it's the summer break. They're on her bed and they're making out and they've been dating for like, eight months which means it's now like, universally acceptable for them to go a little further in their relationship.

And seeing as they first started off at a party with their hands down each others pants, she knows what this means.

Sex.

They've gone as far as possible in terms of other sexual actions, and shit, she's actually about to lose her fucking virginity.

On top of her, Jenny grinds down shamelessly, not even bothering to smother her moan against Santana's mouth because they're alone. They're alone and Jenny's hand is already stroking over her throbbing erection and holy crap, she's so not going to last long. Not as long as they're doing this.

"Jenny," Santana pants, squeezing her eyes shut as the hand around her cock tightens and picks up the pace. "Jenny, stop I can't—"

It's too much and if they _are _about to have sex, Santana knows she's going to blow the minute she's inside her girlfriend.

"Don't worry, baby," Jenny whispers the moment she drags her lips across a tanned cheek to an ear. "I've got you."

Santana doesn't know what her girlfriend means, but she doesn't even have time to ask because Jenny sits up, pushing her back against the bed and ridding herself of her clothes. Arousal ten folds within Santana and she runs her hand over every inch of bare skin as it's revealed, marveling the femininity of her girlfriend.

Fuck. Jenny is so fucking hot.

Soon enough, they're both naked and Jenny's pushing up onto her knees, hovering above Santana's aching member that's now covered in a condom, grabbing the base, and holding it close to her entrance. She beams down at her and the moment she sinks down onto Santana, taking her in halfway, Santana almost comes. Her nails dig into Jenny's hips, and her eyes squeeze shut, willing and hoping that this won't be over the second her girlfriend starts moving.

And thank the fucking lord, it isn't.

Jenny moves like it isn't her first time, her hands coming up to grab at her own breasts, her hair, Santana's chest as she glides up and down her cock, unable to take it all in but bouncing rhythmically and moaning when Santana hits _that _spot as she moves her hips, pushing up with every downward thrust.

And Santana can't help but stare. She just watches her girlfriend, eyes flicking between pink nipples and then down to where they're connected, and even though it feels good... _Really _fucking good because _shit, _she's never felt something so tight, wet and hot around her, she can't quite understand why she isn't falling love with the girl.

She's not stupid or naïve, whe wasn't expecting to lose her virginity surrounded by candles and rose petals.

She wasn't expecting to suddenly see everything clearly and immediately want to marry Jenny.

She wasn't expecting to want to be with Jenny for the rest of her life now that she's lost her virginity to her.

She wasn't expecting to have some sort of epiphany and realize that she Jenny's the one and for them to grow old together and sit on their porch, watching their grandchildren run around the front lawn.

She just thought sex would change something. Would change her feelings for Jenny and make them stronger or whatever.

But it's not doing a single thing, and the only reason she feels a little different is because the pressure is building at the base of her spine and she knows in a few moments, she's about to come.

And these thoughts are really starting to fucking annoy her anyway, so she just lays back, lets herself indulge in this moment and rotates her hips until Jenny buckles forward and lets Santana take over for her.

She pumps into her girlfriend, a light layer of sweat covering her forehead and keeps going until it's all too much and she's driven over the edge. Her hands grip tightly around pale thighs, and she buries herself as deep as possible, letting herself spill into the condom as continuous grunts pour through her lips.

On top of her, Jenny continues to grind down and clenches around her only a few seconds after, screaming Santana's name and scratching down tanned shoulders until the skin is red raw.

Afterward, when Jenny rolls off, Santana kisses her girlfriend on the cheek and jumps when the sound of Jenny's mothers voice flows up the stairs at the same time. They both shoot out of bed and get ready in a haste, smiling as they descent the stairs to greet Mrs. Cooper.

But Santana can't seem to stop the forced smile on her face, or wonder why it wasn't anything like she was expecting for her first time, and not necessarily for the good reasons.

* * *

Later that night, she's lying on her bed, contemplating life and everything when she hears the front door open. Brittany's voice flows up the stairs, following her mothers, and she smiles to herself, rolling her eyes when there's a few footsteps and then a crash as Brittany falls up the stairs.

Weirdly though, it's not even embarrassing. Just endearing and adorable.

Seconds later, Brittany comes bouncing into the room, literally. She swings the duffel bag propped on her shoulder onto the bed and plonks down next to Santana, twisting onto her side and throwing an arm around Santana's waist, head resting onto her shoulder and body snuggling closer.

It's a standard routine for them. Every Friday night Brittany sleeps over, and then on the Saturday, Santana sleeps over at the Pierce household. It's been this way for as long as either of them can remember, and Santana never wants it to change, to tell the truth. Everything feels light, easy and good when Brittany's around. It's why she looks so forward to every weekend.

Throwing an arm around pale shoulders, Santana pulls her best friend closer, dropping a kiss to her head and laughing throatily when Brittany throws a leg over hers, tugging them impossibly close.

"Hello, snuggle bug."

Her best friend hums into her collarbone, forehead resting against her neck. "Hey."

"You alright?"

"Yeah," Brittany breathes, but it sounds freakishly like a _no__, _so Santana pulls away a little, looking down at the blonde.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, San. Just had a long day and I missed you."

The words make her heart expand within her chest, but when the flurry of memories from her day wash over her, it twists and she winces, her stomach turning. Brittany must notice because she's the one to pull away this time, staring up through bright blue eyes that flash with concern and worry, and shit, Santana really doesn't need that look.

"Are _you _okay?" Brittany asks, cocking her head to the right.

Her mouth moves to say yes, but the words don't come out. Something lodges in her throat and she swallows against whatever it is as it grows and grows the longer her eyes born into her best friends. Seriously, what the hell is happening to her?

The blonde shifts back further, blue eyes narrowing. "San?"

Santana suddenly feels incredibly guilty and looks away, finding it harder to breath. Her collar gets a little hot and she clenches her jaw, trying to ignore this burning feeling within her. She fakes a cough, needing to clear the lodge but it doesn't work and Brittany sits back, folding her legs in front of her and Santana mirrors it only moments later, pinching the tips of her fingers nervously.

"Uh, Britt," she manages to get out, notable to look at the other girl just yet. "I, erm... I need to tell you something.

Blue eyes continue to stare at her and Brittany bobs her head, more than willing to listen as she shuffles closer, almost planting herself directly in Santana's lap. Whereas it usually makes her feel warm, and comforted, it now makes her feel dirty... Like she did something wrong.

So what if she slept with her girlfriend? It's _her _girlfriend and it was inevitable. That's what couples do now, especially now they're both in Freshman year in high school.

Still, it doesn't feel like it should've been inevitable.

It feels like she's somehow... _betrayed _Brittany.

"You can tell me anything, San," her best friend soothes her with her voice, reaching over to grab her quivering hands and tugging them both into her lap in a firm grip. Her vision flicks down to the hands, noticing the shake as she feels it and fair eyebrows push together as Brittany lifts her head, staring at Santana who refuses to look up, still. "Why are you nervous?"

"Britt... I..." she licks her lips and blinks, ignoring the way she wants to jerk back as Brittany's thumb rub over her knuckles. She doesn't want Brittany touching her. Not after what she did earlier. "Something happened," she settles on, clamping down on her lower lip with sharp teeth and chewing for a few moments. "Something... pretty big."

Brittany's head tilts so far to the right, and her eyes squint like she doesn't quite understand what's going on. That's reasonable considering Santana hasn't said a thing yet. She just can't seem to bring herself to say it but she knows the longer she keeps it in, the harder it'll be and she takes in a deep breath, bracing herself and wetting her lips as she finally meets Brittany's gaze, her heart twisting and stomach turning almost painfully so.

"I... erm," Santana shifts from side to side as if she's trying to find a more comfortable position. Truth is she's just trying to find comfort within this situation. Her eyes flicker between each blue one and Brittany's looking at her with such trust and care that Santana almost doesn't say it. But she does. She _has _to.

"Just tell me, San. It's not like I'm gonna tell anyone," Brittany laughs but Santana knows that. She knows Brittany would never tell anyone because nothing ever leaves their two ears or mouths when secrets are traded. It's just their standard routine.

"I know, Britt..." Santana nods but her teeth keep clenching and unclenching, trying to coax the words out with the movement of her jaw. "I just... I need to tell you this because you're my best friend, and we share everything. Right?"

"I know. I'm here. I'm listening," Brittany confirms, squeezing tanned hands gently.

And Santana knows it can't be prevented any longer.

So she squares her shoulders, lifts her chin and keeps eye contact with her best friend as the news pours from her lips. "I had sex with Jenny."

The grip around her hand suddenly loosens, and the echo of her words rings throughout the room. Brittany's stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopping doing that little bouncing movement she always does when she's around Santana; she's just staring. Wide, blue eyes bore into narrowed dark ones dark ones, and Santana swallows thickly, waiting for something to be said. Waiting for _anything _to come from her best friend's mouth because this silence is killing her.

Brittany blinks at her a long stretch later, clearly muddled and confused, and slowly she asks, "You... lost your virginity? To... Jenny?"

Hearing it said back stings a lot more than expected, but Santana pulls her lips into her mouth, her heart hammering loudly against her ribcage, and nods equally as slowly as the question was asked. She can't go back on it now. Can't blow it off and pretend she was just kidding. Why would she anyway? She sucks in a ragged breath, bracing herself for what's to come since at this moment, she can't read her best friend. All of their friendship she's been able to but right now, Brittany's expression is inscrutable and Santana really can't stand it.

"Please say something," she begs, her voice hoarse. "Britt, please."

Yet despite the quiet plea, Brittany just sits there, staring and blinking and trying to process the news, face blank. Words don't seem to be coming to her mind and Santana squirms silently in her spot, deliberately pushing back the urge to grab at her best friend's shoulders and shake a reaction out of her.

What seems like hours later, Brittany speaks.

"When?" She asks breathlessly, dropping the tanned hands in her pale ones, nudging them back into Santana's lap. Rejection flushes through Santana but she holds steady, quietly whispering her answer.

"This afternoon."

This time, Brittany's reaction is instant. Blue eyes drop away from her gaze, and it's subtle but Brittany shifts further back, putting a little distance between them. Pink lips move silently and the blonde runs a hand through her hair, her fair eyebrows scrunching together and a crinkle forming between them as she looks at everything _but _Santana. Her hand lifts from her lap, pressing to high on her stomach and she takes in a deep breath, blowing out her cheek as she exhales.

And Santana yearns to touch her. She wants to so badly because she doesn't know what this reaction means. It's definitely saying something after all that they've traded over the years, this news brings the most visceral reaction out of Brittany. But Santana just doesn't know _what _it says, and that's fucking killing her.

So after the fourth minute of silence passes, she decides she can't hold back anymore and lets her fingers slowly creep across the mattress between them, pausing when her skin buzzes, merely half an inch apart from the soft, pale skin of Brittany's hand. She waits, to see if blue eyes snap to her, or if Brittany retracts her hand, and she doesn't after thirty more seconds, so Santana closes the gap and lets her fingers glide over the edge of a pale hand, sliding across her palm and up to her fingers where she slides her own through them.

The touch makes Brittany flinch, her entire body stiffen and Santana winces in return, breathing hard and heavy as she coaxes her best friends hand into the mattress between them slowly, trying to move at a pace that won't startle Brittany. Luckily, the blonde shows no jerky movements and instead lets out a long exhale, finally lifting her head until deep, blue eyes meet chocolate brown ones, flooding with an emotion Santana's not privy to.

Her throat is dry, and she sucks her lips into her mouth, wanting—no, _needing _to say something, to ask if it's okay and to know if they're still okay. Even if she has no idea why she would ask those questions.

And she almost does.

Yet it stays at only almost because Brittany suddenly begins bobbing her head and shakes her head frantically, her entire demeanor switching to it's opposite as a smile comes across her face, a smile too sweet to be real. She bounces on the bed, her cheeks and the corners of her lips lifting and her chest buffs out as she sucks in a large amount of breath.

"Okay," she says, her voice higher and brighter than it was moment ago. "C'mon, let's watch a movie."

Santana's so utterly confused and astounded by the sudden flip that she stays completely still, blinking and staring at the blonde in a way that Brittany was doing to her a minute ago. A bitter thread of disappointment pulses through her, and she feels her entire face fall as Brittany leaps from the bed and heads over to the stack of DVD's in one of Santana's shelves, sorting through them and humming like she wasn't frozen before. She's wiggling her hips, the tune to _California Gurls _vibrating from her lips and Santana's body sags, falling into the mound of pillows beside her as something sinks inside her chest.

But she's still unbeknownst as to why she's feeling this way, and for the first time she's thankful Brittany isn't looking at her to see the disappointment etch across her face.

Little does she know that despite Brittany humming and singing Katy Perry beneath her breath, she's desperately fighting the tears whilst pretending to search for a film.

* * *

The next day, Santana doesn't stay over Brittany's house like she does every Saturday night

In fact, she doesn't even see Brittany because when she wakes up in the morning, her best friend's gone from beside her, without even leaving a note to say why she's disappeared so early.

Santana doesn't realize that she does know why though. Just clamps her jaw, picks up her phone and asks Jenny if she wants to go somewhere for the day and stay over later.

Jenny accepts and they head to the Fort Wayne fair an hour away, coming back at night, stumbling into each other and tearing off clothes as they make their way to the bedroom.

* * *

The same night, Brittany goes over to Matt Rutherford's house after seeing Santana tagged in a photo with Jenny on Twitter at the carnival.

She sleeps with him. Loses her virginity to him.

And on the Sunday, she tells Santana.

Santana pretends not to care, and deliberately ignores how it feels like something just died inside of her.

* * *

Neither of them talk about.

And neither of them know that this is just the beginning.

* * *

**Comments please? If not, thanks for reading!**


	15. Return Of The Unwanted

**Title:** Return of the Unwanted  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count: **7.1k  
**Summary:** As Santana stands here and stares at her so called 'parent', she thinks that she'd actually prefer the superintendent being on the other side of the door, telling her the apartment's ceiling was about to cave in. Part of the _If It Hurts This Much _universe!

**Notes: **Me and my beta kind of discussed this one together and so yeah, this what came of it (: Also, I know I'm being shit but I got a temp job and haven't had much time to write! Sorry!

* * *

The doorbell rings whilst Santana's sitting on the floor with Elijah, playing with some toys.

It's not out of the ordinary for someone to visit unexpectedly. Hell, the last time it happened she opened the door to Quinn who was standing there with a scowl, a bottle of red wine in her hand and a mouth moving a mile a minute, complaining about how Rachel was doing her head in. The only reason it was even remotely enjoyable was because Santana got to spend the entire night listening to Quinn bitching about Rachel and, well, honestly, it was a nice change. Was a little weird when she started defending Rachel but that's neither here nor there.

She gets up and dusts off her hands, but then Elijah pouts up at her and she rolls her eyes, but smiles at the same time and ducks down to pick him up. He never likes being left somewhere, especially not when he knows something's going on and Santana hitches him against her hip, kissing him on the nose when he squirms and shuffles further into her (he's a really cuddly kid, just like his mommy.) His tiny fingers immediately begin toying with the necklace laying between her collarbones and she moves toward the door, smiling and making silly faces at her son to make him giggle.

It's three days until Elijah's first birthday and she can't believe how quickly it's gone. Her little baby boy has changed considerably; his thick, dark and curly hair is now past his ears and sweeping across his forehead—she nor Brittany can bring themselves to take him for his first haircut—and though he's sort of still got that 'baby' appearance, he can't walk but he can say a plethora of different words and even merge them into a few sentences. Granted they don't always make sense but he's getting there.

He's also become more active, and Santana has noticed that recently his feet have started pointing forward as he bum shuffles along the floor and though she and Brittany have been taking turns in teaching him to walk, he hasn't taken his first steps but Santana has this feeling it's not that far off. It's just an inkling and they're both more than excited for it. In fact, when he said his first word—momma—they both burst into tears and squished him between their chests as they hugged him, so the first steps will probably be another one of those times.

Anyway, she gets to the door as Eli begins flicking at the diamond on the chain of her necklace, and she takes a moment to grab his hand and peel it away before the doorbell rings again and she whips it open, ready to tell whoever it is to calm their tits.

Except when she registers who is standing there, her jaw clenches, eyes harden and nostrils flare.

Because it's not Quinn with another bottle of wine and a stick up her ass because Rachel's done something incredible annoying, which apparently is still a shock to Quinn.

It's not the superintendent telling them that a floor up someones bath overran and it's dripping through the ceilings so they should watch out because their ceiling might fall through.

No. Instead, it's something much worse.

It's her mother.

And as Santana stands here and stares at her so called 'parent', she thinks that she'd actually prefer the superintendent being on the other side of the door, telling her the apartment's ceiling was about to cave in.

"Santana," Maria says slowly, slipping her thumb beneath the chain of her handbag strap and lugging it further up her shoulder.

Santana's jaw clenches tighter, teeth grinding together. "What are you doing here?" She deadpans as Elijah wiggles in her arms, burying his face into her neck shyly.

It's then that faded, brown eyes dart to the little boy and Maria gasps, hand coming up to press to her chest in shock. She stares at Eli for a long moment, her breath coming out shallow and face contorting into many different expressions, shocked, hurt, scared, all of the above, yet Santana feels no sympathy for the woman. Maria isn't a part of her daughters life anymore so why should she be a part of her grandchild's life?

A few beats of silence later and Maria lowers her hand, parts her lips and switches her gaze to Santana like she's figured out who the boy is. The older woman takes a step forward into the apartment, and Santana takes one back on instinct, but apparently Elijah doesn't have the same idea and reels back, cocking his head in the same way Brittany does as he stares at Maria.

"Mami," Elijah whispers, ducking his head. "Who?" He asks, pointing a tiny finger toward the woman.

Santana pushes her tongue against the inside of her teeth hard. Should she tell him? Would he understand? He would never get the hatred Santana has for her mother at this age, but he is still her mother's grandson. Whether she likes it or not, she and Elijah are still related by blood to this woman and despite not believing that blood makes family—Quinn, Rachel and the Pierce's are all Santana's family—she thinks that Elijah should still know who his relatives are. No matter who or what they are.

"I'm Maria," the elder woman cuts in before Santana can even make a decision. "And who are you?" She says softly, shifting the tiniest bit closer.

Elijah's eyebrows scrunch together, his nose wrinkling and it's an uncanny resemblance to the face Brittany makes when she's confused. Santana turns, presses her nose into her son's ear and whispers "tell her your name" which he understands immediately. His face brightens and he shows off an almost toothless grin, beaming at the woman in front of him.

"Ee-jah," he pronounces slowly, his face splitting into the largest grin ever when he looks back to Santana and she nods and smiles, silently conveying that he said the right thing.

"This is Elijah," Santana confirms, sternly.

Old, brown eyes glisten with tears, a wrinkled lower lip quivers and Maria holds back the sob. "Hello, Elijah."

Squealing, Elijah hides his face into the crook of Santana's neck, hands gripping at the collar of her shirt to keep himself routed. She cradles the base of his skull, stroking gently over the wisps of hair there and drops a simple but loving kiss to his temple, almost overwhelmed with pride and love, but then she remembers the presence of her mother and looks to her with intense anger, the smile wiping straight from her face.

"So can I help you with something?"

Maria shifts her weight from one leg to the other at the hard edge to Santana's tone. "I just wanted to see you, mija."

"Don't call me that," Santana fires back immediately, trying not to sound so angry in the presence of her son. "I'm not your daughter. I haven't been your daughter for years."

"Please," her mother begs. "Please don't do that. I want to... I want to be a part of your life."

Chuckling bitterly, she shakes her head, staring at the floor as she replies, "It's a little too late for that."

Faded brown eyes stare back at her pleading and shining with unshed tears, but she feels no sympathy. She feels nothing for this woman standing in front of her and she meant what she said five years ago, she doesn't want to talk or see her and she would've kept her promise that Christmas day when she told her mother that was the last time she'd ever heard from her if her mom hadn't just turned up on her damn doorstep.

And she's about to relay all those thoughts, she's about to cover Elijah's ear and tell the woman that, but then something unexpected happens, and Eli leans away from her, stretches out his hands and begins wiggling his fingers in the air toward Maria. That's the universal sign for '_I want to cuddle' _and Santana's never seen it happen with anyone outside the most important people in her life, and it takes her back a little.

Eli doesn't even know who this woman is, yet his instincts are so strong he knows he _wants _to know who she is, and Santana kind of hates that he's got _that _part of Brittany; the one that always gives people a second chance, even when they don't deserve it.

"Hug," Eli pouts.

And then Santana begins to _really _fucking hate it because that's her downfall, and she immediately softens, watching Eli start fussing again and how he stretches out further over the gap, trying to reach Maria who looks like she doesn't know whether to lift her arms or take a step back.

For that, Santana's almost grateful but she kind of really fucking hates that too and ends up taking a step back herself, pushing the door further open and standing to the side, allowing her mother to walk in.

Apparently making Santana give into anything is another thing Brittany gave to Elijah.

* * *

Later on, Santana's standing in the kitchen, leaning back against a counter with a cup of coffee in hand. She's watching her mom and Eli playing on the floor they were previously playing with and it irks her in a way she didn't think was possible. How can Maria just do that? Just walk back into Santana's life with no guilt, with no hesitations and then sit on the damn floor with Eli? She has no right to it and Santana hates that she's being so forgiving, but she knows exactly what Brittany would be saying to her right now if she were here hence why she's keeping schtum.

Her thoughts are distracted when she hears Maria whispering "I need to speak to your mommy, honey," to Elijah and clambers to her feet with a struggle—the woman is sixty two after all—before starting to make her way to the kitchen. Elijah's voice pulls her back though and Maria turns and Santana's ears perk up just in time to catch Elijah frowning and shaking his head.

"Mami," he tells Maria, sternly, who just looks at him as he points at Santana. "Mami"

Santana hides the smirk behind the mug in her hand. Okay, there's definitely a part of her inside her son, and he's using it in the best way. Take that Maria.

"I'm sorry, Eli. I just need to talk to your _mami._" Maria apologizes, bending to pet his head—which makes the grip Santana has on the cup tighten because her son isn't a fucking dog—before she makes her way into the kitchen and hesitates in the archway, fingers wringing nervously in front of her.

And Santana just glares. She isn't going to say anything, even if she had anything to say she wouldn't do it first. She's as stubborn as they come and apparently Maria does know _something _about her daughter because she clears her throat and speaks first.

"How old is he?"

Not the best way to start off a conversation with the daughter that disowned you, but Santana bites the bait anyway and answers.

"Twelve months in three days."

Her mother steps further into the kitchen and Santana catches her scent downwind. It shocks her when instead of sex, alcohol and cigarettes she smells something strangely like perfume, and it catches her so off guard she actually drops the cup of coffee to the counter and stands straight, head tilting to the side. Her eyes trail over her mother and she narrows her eyes, finally taking in the clean, pristine appearance of the woman.

Her hair is up in a tight, neat bob, her make-up is light and her skin doesn't look as old and leathered as it did last time Santana saw her. It makes something curdle within her but she knows that just because her mom looks like she's changed doesn't mean she has changed. The woman could still be screwing twenty five year olds and spending all her money and time on booze and cigarettes, even if she doesn't reek of either of them right now.

"You didn't tell me," Maria says, and Santana doesn't even flinch at the hurt dripping off her mothers tone. She still doesn't feel guilty. "You should've done, mija."

Santana's lips curl. "Well, I'm afraid I actually cared about my child unlike you," she presses her hand to her chest. "So I didn't really want a drunk, sex crazed alcoholic who smokes like a chimney around him, to be honest." She leans forward, narrowing her eyes and scrunching up her face patronizingly. "I apologize if that offends you, but it's not exactly the influence you should have around a damn child."

Her mother jerks her head back, face flickering with pain and Santana feels nothing but a sweet thread of satisfaction buzz through her. And she thinks that if she's mean enough, her mother might leave. If she's enough of a bitch, her mom might give up, knowing she's a lost cause and just walk out of Santana's life again. Maybe it'll happen and so she fully prepares herself to whip out the meanest things that have ever left her mouth when her mom steps even further into the room and begins speaking once more.

"I know I haven't been the best mother in the world, Santana..." Santana looks at her and scoffs. "But I've changed. When you came to me on that Christmas day five years ago, it broke something inside of me." Santana clenches her jaw, watching as her mother comes further into the kitchen and stops by the counter two down from hers. "You said things that hurt, and it took me a while to accept that what you said was true, but," Maria pauses and begins playing with her hands by her sternum. "I finally did, and I realized how I haven't been there for you. How I haven't participated in the biggest moments of yours or Antonio's life, and I know I should have." She ducks her head in shame and Santana feels anger curdle within her; she _refuses _to feel sorry for this woman, even if she's about to cry. "I should have and now that I'm... Now that I'm better, I'm hoping you could—" her head snaps up and eyes lock with Santana's "—give me another chance?" A beat of silence between them.

"Maybe?"

And that pisses her off, even though she thought she couldn't possibly be _more _pissed off with her mom.

How can Maria do that? Seriously? How can she make Santana feel guilty, even though she's done absolutely nothing to contribute to Santana's life, apart from giving birth to her? How can she come to Santana's house, use Elijah as a way to get through the front door and then fucking _cry _in her damn kitchen and make _her _feel bad? How is that fucking fair?

Anger pulsates through her and she stands tall, back straightening and chin lifting as a snarl rips from her mouth. But she never gets to let the anger loose, she never gets to tell her mom how unfair this is and then get the satisfaction of kicking her out the house because the front door swings open and a sweet, "Babies, I'm home!" flows through the rooms, reaching both her and her mother's ears, capturing their attention, too.

Santana's head snaps around, a sappy smile cracking at her lips and she sort of hates that. She was about to let rip on her mom and now Brittany's here, her anger's sort of disappeared. Stupid being in eternal love thing.

"San? Eli? You in here?"

Footsteps echo through the house and Santana stays quiet, desperately focusing on trying to hold the anger she has for her mother right now. but then the footsteps get closer, and seconds later Brittany's head pops around the door, a grin on her face as she spots Santana from the living room. It breaks Santana's resolve really, and she slumps a little as Brittany walks towards her after ducking to greet Elijah with a kiss to the head and a quick embrace, but then blue eyes flick around the moment the blonde gets into the kitchen and she finds the presence of another person there. She freezes immoderately.

Good. Apparently Santana's not the only one to be shocked.

"Maria?" Brittany says slowly, like she's pronouncing a foreign word. Her eyes flit to Santana quickly.

Maria's face twists into a lopsided smile as she takes a wary step forward. "Brittany, dear," she says and Santana rolls her eyes at the added affection in her mom's tone. "Hello."

It takes a few seconds for Brittany to react but she shakes off whatever she's thinking about and moves to Maria, raising her arms and wrapping them around the smaller woman to greet her. Santana stiffens, her fingers tightening as they grip the edge of the counter and she honestly doesn't know how Brittany can even bare to be within touching distance of the woman. Santana herself has gradually been putting more distance between them throughout their conversation.

Maria smiles widely at the greeting and Santana grimaces, reminding herself over and over that this is _Brittany, _and she always believes people deserve another chance, even if this is at least her mom's sixth or seventh chance. The hug breaks and Brittany twists, sliding over to Santana and kissing her on the cheek with a smile.

"Hey," she murmurs softly and Santana winds an arm around her wife's waist.

"Hi, honey," she whispers back, momentarily distracted by the way Brittany's looking at her. Out the corner of her eye she sees the older woman and her face falls a little as she says, "My mom's here."

Brittany lifts a brow in her direction and gives her that 'be nice' look. Santana rolls her eyes.

"I can see," the blonde mutters but then breaks them out their little bubble and looks back to Maria. "Maria, would you like something to drink?"

Maria bites on her bottom lip, seeming unsure whether to say yes but then nods sheepishly. "I'd love a coffee, please, Brittany. If that's okay."

In true Santana fashion, she rolls her eyes. She didn't offer her mom a coffee for the purpose that she was hoping the woman wouldn't stay long but Brittany's always been the better half, the politer half and her hand squeezes her hip quickly as the blonde scoots away and begins boiling the kettle. She throws Santana the "talk to her but be nice" look this time and Santana's stomach tightens. This is going to take a lot of strength.

Santana exhales heavily, and it must say the stubborn response of "hell no" she was hoping for because Brittany turns to her, eyes widening and head tilting like she can't believe Santana's refusing to talk to her own mother. Well, really, is it _that _surprising?

"So, Maria," the blonde starts and Santana crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at her mother. "What brings you to this side of town?"

A scoff bursts through Santana's lips as she mutters beneath her breath, "Well she's slept with the available men in _her _side of town, so..." which judging by the way blue eyes flash to her, she's not sure was so 'beneath her breath.'

"I just came to talk to Santana," Maria responds, her voice soothing in a way Santana's never heard. "I came to apologize and I'm sure she'll tell you all about it."

Faded brown eyes flicker to her and she inhales through her nose, her eyes narrowing further the more air she takes in. A hand grazes her bicep and she flinches, immediately relaxing when she sees Brittany standing beside her, silently asking her to relay the conversation. But apparently her face shows that she isn't going to do it whilst Maria's still in the room and so Brittany gives her the eye before turning to the older woman, her hand sliding down to grip at Santana's waist whilst she speaks.

"Maria," she starts, pouring the hot water into the coffee cup and picking it up. "Elijah gets a little impatient when he's left alone so could you go and sit with him for a moment, please?" She hands over to the cup and Maria takes it, curling both hands the sides of it with a grateful smile. "Just while I talk to Santana."

The woman looks between them nervously and nods before making her way through the kitchen toward the living room where she sits back down with Elijah, leaving Santana alone with Brittany.

* * *

"So?"

"So what?"

"Why is she here?"

Santana shrugs. "She told you."

"No," Brittany steps towards her, glaring a little. "She told me _you'd _tell me. So what's going on?"

Santana rolls her eyes and glances away, a little pissed off. It shouldn't matter _why _Maria's here, all that should matter is that she shouldn't be here, period. She shouldn't even be breathing she same damn air as them let alone standing in adjoining rooms. "It doesn't matter, Britt," she huffs out. "I don't want her here."

"San..." Brittany starts, voice dipping. "She sucked up the courage to come and see you."

"So?"

Blue eyes burn into her dark ones. "The least you could do is hear her out."

Santana slams her palm down onto the counter, a sudden flare erupting over her skin. "I did, Britt! I fucking heard her out and she said she'd changed," she blurts out, eyes wide with anger. "She told me she'd cleared up and that Christmas day five years ago really kicked her into touch. She told me she wanted to be a part of our lives, of Elijah's life and that I should've fucking _told _her about him."

Brittany stares at her, shocked by her tone. "She asked me to give her another damn chance and you know what? I don't really fucking feel like it because she's _not _a good influence. She never has been and she's not someone I want around our _son._ People don't just fucking change like that," she clicks her fingers. "And if she changed then why did it take _five fucking years _to come and see me?" She shakes her head. "It's _bullcrap, _Britt." She begins to pant and watches as blue eyes roam over her face, waiting out her rant. "It's just another one of her schemes and I don't want Eli around someone like that."

"Come with me and look at this," Brittany whispers not a beat later and Santana frowns for a split second before her wife grabs her arm, tugging her into the middle of the kitchen so she can see into the living room.

"You see that woman?" A long, slender finger points toward Eli and Maria, playing, smiling and laughing together on the play mat. "_That _woman is not the same one that we visited five years ago," she whispers, low into Santana's ear. "_That _woman came here and asked for your apology. _That _woman, in spite of all the reasons why she _shouldn't _have come here, pushed them away and risked it anyway, knowing how you'd react. _That _woman is now sitting on the floor with _your _son, playing with his toys and voluntarily doing so," she continues and then pulls Santana around until they're facing each other.

"So you can't tell me that's the same woman we saw, sitting in her kitchen, smoking and drinking away her life whilst her boy toy was sitting next door." She takes in a steady breath and Santana just looks at her. "You just _can't._"

Santana stays silent, choosing to bite her tongue as she purposely doesn't stare at her wife, instead staring at the counter top. Brittany shifts beside her, and she just knows that she's lost this one because she can't deny it; her mom _isn't _the same as she was. The moment her mom walked through the door, Santana could tell there was something different about her. She looks different, she's acting _different—hell, _she even _smells _different—but Santana doesn't want to just give in that easy. She doesn't want to _have _to forgive this woman who gave her nothing but shit for the first half of her life. She doesn't want her mom to get away that easily because she wasn't a mom, and she can't just suddenly start acting like one, and a grandma too, because Santana kicked her ass into gear _five _years ago.

Which, by the way, is total bullshit in itself because who needs _five _years to change their ways? Five years to come back to their daughter who's now completely moved on with her life, got married to her best friend, had a baby with her. It doesn't take that long, and that's one of the many reasons she doesn't want to forgive Maria.

But Brittany's staring at her with a cocked eyebrow, a _you know I'm right _look and Santana just knows that she's lost this one.

"Come on, Santana," Brittany whispers, lowering her head to look into dark eyes as her hands stroke tanned arms, crossed over Santana's chest. "Having our baby should tell you family is important."

Santana drops her vision to her foot as it scuffs along the tiling of the floor, staying silent, but Brittany just continues.

"And you should know that not everyone gets things right the first time."

Her head snaps up, eyes darting up too as she registers the meaning behind the words, but before she can even say anything, maybe make a remark about how Brittany should know too about not getting things right the first time considering their past and a certain Asian dancer, but Brittany's already cocking her head quickly, raising both eyebrows and walking out the room, leaving Santana to her thoughts.

Fucking Brittany; why does she always have to be right?

* * *

Santana stays distant for the majority of the afternoon, standing on the other side of the room and watching her family and Maria with a grimace as they play together. Brittany kneels on the floor, grinning and laughing whenever Elijah does something cute, and Maria joins in too, looking between them with excited eyes like she can't quite believe she's here.

Santana can't either, but for an entirely different reason.

It gets to six and Santana tells Brittany to stay put as she'll cook the dinner tonight. It's not her night to—yes, they have a schedule—but Brittany seems to catch why she's offering and just nods at her before going back to play with Elijah. It's sort of really irritating because Santana knows that any other night, Brittany would insist that she cooked, but the blonde is letting Santana dwell on her own thoughts and stay away from her mom and honestly, the reason it's irritating is because she's about ninety nine percent sure that Brittany knows Santana's slowly caving.

Still though, she's stubborn as hell, so she ignores the looks her wife keeps shooting her whilst she cooks.

Sooner than expected, there's nothing else to do and she's calling her family and the person she calls her mother to sit around the dining table.

* * *

"So, Santana," Maria starts, clearing her throat and lowering her fork. "How's work?"

Santana barely spares a glance at the woman as she continues to eat. "Fine," she grumbles but Brittany delivers a swift kick to her calf beneath the table and she shoots the woman beside her a glare before continuing. "Quinn and I are working on a second album."

"Quinn?"

Right. Santana forgot this woman knows _nothing _about her life. "She's my other best friend."

"Oh," Maria says, acting a little surprised and what Santana thinks is hurt. Seriously, what the fuck? "I didn't know you had any friends outside Brittany."

It's probably not meant to sound the way it does, but she instantly thinks her mother's trying to insult her and stops eating completely, her fingers tightening around her cutlery as she lifts her head to stare at her mom.

"What's that meant to mean?" She spits, cocking an eyebrow.

"Babe," Brittany whispers beside her, leaning in a little and sensing the tension in her muscles. "She didn't mean it like that."

"I didn't," Maria chimes in from across the table. "I just meant that you as a family clearly spend a lot of time together," she tries to explain but Santana's not buying it. This woman's never done anything but slide in subtle comments and Santana knows one when she hears one. "You are all very close and I just meant that since I haven't heard anything about anyone else, you family was your life."

She offers a small shrug, but Santana still glares at the woman, her face slowly dropping as the anger dissipates. Her eyes slide to her wife to find blue ones staring right back, clearly trying to convey that she doesn't want her to get angry but it's hard when it's Maria sitting here. Even with Brittany's words earlier, Santana doesn't want to let her mother in so easily. She built up these walls to keep the woman out, and just because she's decided to clean up her act doesn't mean that Santana should just let it pass.

...Does it?

"My family is my life," Santana responds, lowering her cutlery to her plate and lifting her chin, shoulders rising. "But my family consists of Brittany, Elijah, Antonio, Quinn and Rachel. That's the way it has been and that's the _only_ way it's going to be from now until forever, because they're the only constant things in my life and I love them for it. Anything else is just... Undesirable and unwanted," she announces with strength in her tone, clearly choosing to leave out her mother, and Maria picks up on it instantly because her lower lip quivers as she drops her cutlery noisily, quickly excusing herself before she rushes off toward the direction of the bathroom.

And Santana's just left there, staring at the vacant space where her mother previously sat and thinks about how fitting that is.

Still, she can't avoid the pair of blue eyes boring into the side of her space and lets out a heavy sigh, her body deflating as she drops her head into her hand, propping her elbow up on the table. There's never been a time when she's felt guilty for saying something so truthful to her mother, but Brittany always has a way of manipulating her feelings because she can't fight the fact that she feels fucking bad right now for saying that. Shit.

"Stop that," she whispers, the words muffled against her palm. "Please don't give me that look."

A hand rests across her thigh and she twists her head, temple pressing against her palm to look at her wife. "You wouldn't be feeling like this if you didn't actually feel bad about what you just said," Brittany says in the softest of tones and Santana, well, she knows she has a point. "But I don't want to argue with you about this and so I'm going to leave it to you for now," she mutters and leans forward, pressing her lips to Santana's forehead before standing up and clearing the table, pausing to lean back down to Santana, their faces close together as plates balance in her left hand. "But remember that if we hadn't given each other second chances, we wouldn't be here," she points out and walks away without another word, leaving the words to sink into Santana.

Two minutes later, she stands herself and heads toward the bathroom, shaking her head and rubbing her neck as she goes as Brittany's words loop over and over inside her mind.

Sometimes she totally hates the effect Brittany has on her. She totally knew this would happen.

* * *

A short rap on the door and a small "it's Santana" is all it takes for Maria to open the bathroom door, and when she does, Santana notices the puffy redness beneath her eyes and the slight mascara tracks creeping down the corners of them. Guilt doesn't flood through her, but she feels a slight twinge and thinks about what Brittany said. The ball is in her court and right now, she needs to say what she wants; what she wants for the rest of time, whether that's for Maria to leave their lives and never return, or whether that's Santana giving her mother a chance.

"Yes, mija?"

Santana cringes inwardly at the name but doesn't physically react. "If I give you a chance," she starts, trying to drop anger into her tone but failing somehow. "Then you _can't _fuck this up," she says, pointing a finger at her mother. Her mother's face instantly brightens up, skin glowing a little and she nods but Santana has more to say. "If I give you a chance, then you have to follow certain rules of my family's life, and do what I say when you're in _my _home and around _my _child."

Maria nods again, clasping her hands innocently in front of her button down cardigan. "Just tell me the rules," she says, desperation and excitement creeping into her tone. It's almost like she's begging, yet Santana's given her what she wants already. "Tell me what I have to do, or what you want me not to do and I'll do it," she gets out, voice breaking as her hands move a little. "Just thank you," she steps forward and Santana takes a step back on instinct, ignoring the hurt that flashes across faded brown eyes. "Thank you for giving me a chance."

"Just don't fuck this up," Santana grits out, releasing her balled fists and swallowing thickly. She doesn't know why but she hates that she doesn't feel like her mom's going to. It's almost like she wants her mom to fuck this up. "You won't get another chance if you do."

A smile tugs at the corners of Maria's lips and Santana's twitch in response, but she doesn't smile back and instead lets her mom set a hand on her bicep.

"I won't," the older woman whispers, voice dripping nothing but honesty and Santana only knows that because she's never heard her mother's voice like this before. It sounds like a promise, one she'll keep and Santana knows she's giving in too easily, but Brittany wouldn't convince her to do this without good reason so she's just going to trust her wife and her ways. "I love you, Brittany and Elijah too much, and I hope that you can introduce me to Quinn and Rachel at some point," she squeezes Santana's arm and Santana's eyebrows lift a little. The woman remembered Quinn and Rachel's names. Maybe she has changed. "And maybe even suggest to Antonio that he gets in contact with me."

She takes a step back, eyes slightly narrowing but in the end she offers a curt nod.

"I can't promise anything as I won't speak for him, but we talk every few weeks or so, so I'll mention it."

"Thank you, mija," Maria's voice is softer than ever and her eyes are glossy with unshed tears. "And I know it won't happen overnight, reconciling with my daughter," she chokes out, a lone tear trailing down her cheek. "But I have so much lost time to make up for and so much to apologize for."

"You do," Santana replies, hard and fast. It's true after all. "But you've got to give me time because I can't forgive you as easily as Brittany can."

Lower lip quivering, Maria accepts that with a short bob of her head and wipes away the tear tracks on her face. "Thank you," she cracks out, opening her arms. "Can I have a hug?"

But it's too soon for that. It's too soon for affection when there's been nothing but hate and anger between them for so many years and so Santana dips her head as she shakes it, ignoring the twinge in her stomach as guilt settles there. Stupid fucking feelings.

"I understand," her mom continues, stepping out the bathroom and brushing past her. "Thank you though, and this time, I won't let you down."

She heads down the hallway with one last squeeze to Santana's arm and Santana just stares at her feet, wondering whether her mom actually means that or not.

* * *

A little while later, and it's time for Maria to head home. She's picked up her purse, put on her coat and taken her hair out from the collar of it, and is already standing by the door with Brittany, who seems to be saying something serious to her if her body language is anything to go by. But Santana's not too worried about that; Brittany wouldn't say or do anything bad and she knows that her wife's probably just warning Maria about screwing this up because Brittany knows Santana better than Santana knows herself, and that means that Brittany knows if Maria does screw this up, she really _isn't _going to get another chance, no matter what.

Elijah sits in Santana's lap, his tiny hands playing with the stuffed green dinosaur toy Brittany bought him last week, and Santana just watches her son, brushing her fingers over his forehead and trying to perk up her ears to listen to the conversation going on by the door but failing at it. She's a little too far away.

"San?"

Her head turns and eyes find blue ones. "Yeah?"

"Your mom's going," Brittany says, dipping her head and lifting her eyebrows to show that she's really saying "get over here, now."

Santana offers a light tipped smile and clutches Elijah close to her as she pushes up, keeping him in her arms and shifting until he's hitched against her hip. Her legs lead her over to the door and when she gets there, Brittany's hand presses to the small of her back, urging her forward to her mother and for a second she thinks her wife's trying to get her to hug her mom, but then she realizes she's actually meaning that push for Eli considering Santana's holding him and Santana gets it.

Since their little talk in the bathroom, Santana has actually been kind of nice to her mom, which is surprising, but then again Brittany was there the entire time, and Elijah too, and she couldn't bring herself to be a bitch when she was giving her mom a chance. Plus, she sort of had to give it to the woman for having big enough balls to come here after everything and beg for forgiveness.

"Goodbye, Elijah," Maria coos but the child pays no attention, too wrapped up in playing with his green dinosaur.

The hand on Santana's back presses a little harder and Santana doesn't really know why the next few words come out, but they do and the second she says them, she feels the love come from behind her from her wife and from in front of her from her mother.

"Eli, honey, say goodbye to your abuela."

Maria's eyes gloss over immediately, beaming with joy and adoration, and Santana resists the urge to roll her eyes because there's a smile on her face and for once, she feels like having her mom back might be a good thing. Not that she'd ever admit it—but she'd bet her bottom dollar that Brittany already knows—but that's one thing that's been missing from their family. Don't get her wrong, their family is perfect with Santana and Brittany as the loving parents that'd do anything for their child, Quinn and Rachel as their interesting aunts and Antonio as the semi-famous, rich uncle, but there's always been that higher level that's been missing.

And in this moment, she actually feels like despite all the work needs to be done, there's a missing puzzle piece that definitely wasn't there before, and even though it's a little misshapen, a little disproportional for the space it needs to fit in, that there's been progression and maybe one day, that piece will fit in.

Shit. Santana honestly doesn't know how she went from being completely against her mom even being in the same room as her to inviting her into their family with a warmer welcome than she deserves.

(Except she does know; it's all Brittany. Goddammit.)

"Bye-bye," Elijah says with a cheeky grin and Maria's face beams with affection as she takes him gently from Santana's arms and hugs him tightly before deliberately placing him back in her arms, knowing that the time isn't right for a hug. Santana may be more accepting, but she's not quite there yet, and she has to admit, she's kind of thankful that her mom knows that.

"Bye, honey," the older woman whispers after kissing Brittany on the cheek and waving her goodbye as the blonde opens the door. "Bye, mija," she directs to Santana and she throws a light smile back, cuddling her son closer to her and kissing him on the temple to hide whatever expression she may be showing as her mom walks out their building and down the stoop, sliding into the taxi that's already there.

Long arms wind around her waist, lips pressing against the spot behind her ear as they all watch Maria's cab pull away and head down the street, and it's only when the car disappears that the lips move toward her ear, brushing over the shell and Santana feels like everything's right in the world as she stands here, with her son in her arms and her wife holding her.

"I'm so proud of you," Brittany whispers, hugging her closer. "I love you."

Santana leans back into her, breathing out heavily as Elijah settles into her neck and just like that, everything's complete again. "I love you, too," she breathes out through a smile.

* * *

**I know that there's been a rather lengthy gap between updates, but I am super busy at the moment and lacking inspiration. **

**So do forgive me, but please drop a comment if you feel necessary/have time and it'd be greatly appreciated!**

**Also, if you have any prompts you'd like me to consider, then please drop by my Tumblr (which is my pen name with the tumblr URL added on the end) or send me a PM. I'd be more than happy to read your suggestions.**

**Thank you guys, and hope you've enjoyed this!**


	16. Keep It Hidden

**Title: **Keep It Hidden (Close To The Surface, Inside)**  
Rating: **PG**  
Word Count: **6.3k**  
Summary: **She just ends up standing around with the Lopez's; discussing how happy Sophie and Santana are going to be and inwardly wanting to maybe accidentally slip and knock herself out so she won't have to listen to any of this because it kind of hurts. Part of the _If It Hurts This Much _universe!

**Notes: **Requested from an anon on Tumblr about Brittany's POV for the wedding. Haven't beta'd it so all mistakes are my own. Title from Boys Like Girls song _Learning To Fall _which fits this one shot pretty fucking perfectly. Enjoy!

* * *

She can feel her lips stretching into a grin beneath Santana's as warmth floods through her. Her hands have a mind of their own, fingers tangling through dark hair as their kiss turns deep and sloppy, almost like they've been doing it for years. She can feel her lungs running out of oxygen, the need to breath hitting her hard but having Santana's lips upon her own is just too damn good.

It just feels too fucking great and she doesn't even realize she's smiling so widely at the thought that they've been forced to stop kissing until she opens her eyes and finds dark eyes staring down at her, roaming over her face and somehow smiling down at her on their own.

But then she does realize she's smiling, and then her thoughts process and she realizes _why _she was smiling.

Because she was kissing her best friend.

Her best friend who's getting married tomorrow.

To another woman.

Oh crap.

What have they done?

* * *

She arrives at The Foundry two hours before the ceremony starts, hoping that she can catch Santana before she goes in. But there's no such luck and she just ends up standing around with the Lopez's, discussing how happy Sophie and Santana are going to be and inwardly wanting to maybe accidentally slip and knock herself out so she won't have to listen to any of this because it kind of hurts.

It hurts in a way she didn't think it would, that it always kind of has—like the time when Santana revealed she'd lost her virginity to her girlfriend, Jenny, when they were fifteen—but now it's intensified. The hurt deeper and routed more to the left side of her chest than anywhere else. Now it hurts because she can't even say anything. Not without ruining people's lives and causing unhappiness on a day that's meant to be happy and so she keeps quiet, forcing a smile when necessary and pretending to be happy for her best friend even though all she can think about is what it feels like to have Santana's lips against her own.

In some ways, she thinks it was a long time coming: her and Santana.

She thinks them kissing was something that would happen at some point in their lives, but it's just really freaking... _inconvenient _that it happened the day before Santana was due to be wed to someone that decidedly _isn't _Brittany. Not that Brittany wants that because that's ridiculous and so silly that she almost laughs at herself for even thinking about it, but the timing between them is really just inconvenient.

And it's not even like now she can deny that there's something between them because last night is substantial proof along.

From that night when they first saw each other after eighteen months at Santana's party, she knew that there was something different. She could feel it in the air, in the way their eyes met and stayed on each other for longer than necessary and in the way Santana's arm wrapped around her waist, almost like she claiming her like her own when the cute bartender was hitting on her that night.

She could feel it, especially when she wrapped her arms around Santana's neck after so long of going without, or when Sophie came over and kissed Santana right in front of her, like she was trying to show what was hers even though there's definite doubt now.

There's been proof for a while now; signs like Santana turning up at Brittany's house last night instead of going home to Sophie, and so many more that Brittany would need at least one more pair of hands to count them. But the worst part is she doesn't think Santana's acknowledging any of that right now. It's not like Santana's dumb and not noticing them because she's too smart for that to happen, but she's just being purposely ignorant of everything happening between her and Brittany, and Brittany's okay with that for now.

Kind of.

She's okay with that because Santana's always needed time to figure things out on her own. Pushing her doesn't help anything, and so Brittany's standing back like she's always done in their friendship.

Although she does wonder if she _should _stand back this time. Because this time Santana's not going to need a few days and realize it and nothing will change. This time, Santana's getting married and if she realizes it after she's married, it'll totally screw up her entire life and so that's bringing Brittany to the thought that maybe she should say something, or give Santana little push because she doesn't want Santana making a big mistake by marrying Sophie if she doesn't want to.

But who is Brittany to say that Santana doesn't want to marry Sophie?

Things have changed between them. They've had eighteen months without seeing each other and okay, Brittany thinks it's slightly ridiculous that Santana's getting married to a woman she's known for like, a year, but that's not her place to say. Okay, maybe Brittany thinks that it's also ridiculous for Santana to think she's fallen madly in love with this woman because that's just _not _Santana. She's not a woman that falls in love quickly. She takes her time, just like most other aspects in her life but when she loves, she really does love; which is probably why Brittany's so hesitant and doubtful about Santana's feeling toward Sophie.

Like the said though, who is she to say that? Things have changed and they're not as close as they used to be. Santana could've changed completely. It could've happened and she really _could _be in love with this woman who she basically barely even knows.

It could be true.

(No matter how much Brittany doesn't want it to be.)

Crap. She really doesn't know what to do.

On one hand, she doesn't want Santana to make a huge mistake by marrying someone she doesn't really want to, but on the other hand she doesn't want to say something in case Santana actually _does _want to marry this woman.

On one hand, Brittany wants Santana to really think about what happened between them last night and realize that there's obviously something there, something that has been there for a while, but on the other one, she doesn't want to ruin Santana's day or chance at happiness.

Dropping her chin to her chest, Brittany lets out a heavy exhale and shakes her head. This is just too confusing.

"Brittany?"

She lifts her head, eyes flickering to the man standing before her. "Tony," she breathes out, feeling somewhat lighter than a moment ago as she takes in the sight of Santana's brother. He's always been a dashing gentleman, but not in _that _way. Tony's basically her brother and they have an amazing bond but he still looks like Jesse Metcalfe and he's quite obviously an attractive man and like, she does have eyes.

"Are you okay?" Tony asks, holding his hands out and aiding Brittany up from the chair when she places her palms in his. "You seem deep in thought."

There's something almost knowing in his tone and her head tilts to the side at the sound of it.

"What do you mean?"

The corner of Tony's lip tugs up at the same time he lifts an eyebrow. "You know what I mean," he says, dipping his head but she plays it dumb. "Santana's getting married."

This time she's unable to hide the way she reacts and winces at the words, diverting her gaze down to the floor and taking her hands out of his, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know," she nods but forces herself to look up, a feigned smile on her face. "Isn't it great? I mean, she and Sophie are great together."

Tony looks at her. "No, they're not," he says. "I've just spent the last ten minutes talking to her and she couldn't stop checking me out."

Brittany lets out a noise that's somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "Bit full of yourself?"

"Honey," Tony starts, tilting his head and lifting both eyebrows. "I know when girls check me out and when girls are interested in me and she was an inappropriate amount of interested in me considering she's marrying my sister in an hour."

She looks at him, processing his words and wonders whether he's ever thought she was checking him out.

"And I know for a fact that there are more... _suited _people out there for Santana," he continues, his eyes sparkling with something knowing. It scares Brittany.

"Well she loves Sophie and is marrying her," Brittany says, almost like she's trying to convince herself of the former. "So it doesn't matter if there's more _suited _people out there," she smooths her palms down the front of her dress, eyes following the movement before she looks back up at Santana's brother. "And that's it."

Tony's face twists into something she thinks is disappointment, but before she can even question him further on that, Santana's mother, Maria, bursts through the door, grinning widely with a daze in her eye. Tony immediately scoffs, shaking his head sharply and basically sprinting over toward her, grabbing her by the shoulder and muttering something angrily in Spanish to her.

Brittany doesn't know what it is, but she can smell the liquor coming from Maria's breath all the way over here, and she's on the other side of the room. Definitely not the day to tell Santana that she could be making a mistake. Seems as if Maria's already taking the spot for 'who's going to ruin the day?'

"Brittany, querido," Maria slurs, pushing past Tony to get to her. "You look beautiful."

Brittany's cheeks heat up at the compliment but she offers a thankful smile and ducks her head. "Thank you, Maria. You look lovely, too."

It's not exactly the truth. Maria's wearing a red dress than a woman of her age really _shouldn't _be and her hair's styled in a side ponytail; something that would only suit a younger age group. But still, she's not rude and there's enough tension between Santana and Maria without Brittany joining in with it too, so she stays polite to the woman.

"Tony," Maria clicks her fingers and blue eyes dart over to Tony just in time to take in the pissed off glare he shoots his mother. "I need to go and speak with Santana, now. You look after Brittany now."

Tony obviously has something to say about that, but he bites his tongue and Brittany shoots Maria a light tipped smile before watching the woman walk out, only stopping when Tony tugs on her arm and says "sober up before you see her" into her ear. But then it's them alone again, and Brittany takes in a deep breath as Tony comes toward her, setting his hands on her shoulders and massaging gently, his eyes flickering all over his face like he's not sure how the phrase what he's about to say.

"Are you going to talk to her before the ceremony?"

Brittany's throat thickens and she ducks her head. "I have nothing to say," she lies, closing her eyes at her words.

"You know," Tony starts, clearing his throat and taking his hands away, moving over to the chair in the corner of the room they're in—a room that now only contains a mirror after Brittany helped shift the flowers out earlier—and takes a seat, crossing his ankles over each other as he leans back. "I used to think that you and Santana were going to get married."

Brittany looks to him, failing to put on the slightly repulsed and incredibly shocked expression her mind's telling her she should have right now. "You did?"

"Yeah," he nods, fiddling with the bottom of his tie. "I used to think you two would end up together."

It makes something in Brittany's chest falter and she bites down on her lip, thumbing a crinkle in her dress.

"You were always more interested in her than anyone else," Tony continues, taking in Brittany's silence. His words stop and he looks over her for a long moment before letting out a short laugh. "I remember when we were teenagers and went to California for Spring Break," he recalls, his head tipping up. "We were on the beach and I'd just taken my top off to swim." Brittany's eyebrows scrunch together, confused. "And I expected you to be checking me out when I look back at you but your eyes were glued to my sister and not in a sexyway either. You just looked... _enamored_."

She gulps after a long moment, wondering how she could have been so obvious.

"But it's not just that," he states, folding his hands over each other. "You two have always just been perfect for each other." He pauses. "More perfect than Santana and Sophie are."

She feels like she should be saying something here. Maybe deny it or laugh or something, but she finds herself unable to say the words. Maybe because she wouldn't believe them even if she said them out loud.

"You're the only one who can change her mind, you know that right?"

Her eyes dart up, meeting his and they stay locked for a few long seconds, trading words that can't be spoken until a swift smile comes across Tony's lips and he looks away, letting out a small laugh as he uses his hands on his thighs to push up from the chair to stand. He walks over to her, sliding his hands down her arms until he grabs at hers, squeezing lightly as her eyes flicker between each of his, trying to figure out what he's _really _trying to say.

"The Greeks had four types of love," he says and Brittany's face twists in confusion, eyebrows knitting together because if she wasn't lost before, now she totally is. "And Santana feels one of them for Sophie, and one for you," he continues, throwing her a wink and her face drops. She needs Google. Pronto. "But only one of them really matters."

He leans forward, pressing a platonic kiss to her forehead before squeezing her hands once more and leaving the room, leaving Brittany to her own thoughts and his words.

* * *

Twenty minutes before the ceremony's supposed to start, Rachel arrives. She's wearing in a short, shiny, purple dress with cream heels and a matching clutch bag and Brittany's standing outside, talking to a few of Santana's relatives when she spots her. Giving her apologies to them, she moves away from the group and toward her friend, stepping into the hug Rachel gives her when they're close enough.

"Thank God you're here," Brittany breathes, a heaviness lifting off her chest now that her friend's here. Now she's not alone.

Rachel pulls back and readjusts her hair. "What's wrong?"

"Just—Nothing," Brittany quickly changes her mind and forces a smile. "Come on, let's go get our seats."

Rachel stares at her quizzically but says nothing as Brittany tugs her inside, sitting down in their pew and ignoring that they're the first people in there.

Brittany just wants to get this over and done with.

* * *

The music begins playing and Brittany's eyes shut as she tries to regulate her breathing and heartbeat, ignoring the way it feels like something's about to burst from her chest. She knows she shouldn't be feeling this way and forces herself to keep a stoic face, willing herself not to cry. She doesn't turn around either, knowing that will definitely bring the tears and instead clasps her hands together on her lap, definitely choosing to ignore the strange look Rachel's giving her from her left.

Okay, maybe she isn't being subtle about this.

The second she hears the click of the doors open, her heart jumps into her throat. She swallows against it, hoping that it'll just go away because she has no right to feel this way, and blows out a long exhale, hearing the first whispers of people calling Santana beautiful and saying "oh my God" when they see her, and prepares herself to turn around, unsure how she's going to react to seeing Santana in a wedding dress. Not only because it's going to _really _sink what's about to happen, but because Santana's beautiful on any day, in any season, at any time of the night, wearing anything.

She's beautiful in winter in heavy track pants and an oversized hoodie on, with zero make up and her hair tied into a messy pony, and she's beautiful in summer in denim cut offs and a tank top with a make-up and long, dark hair flowing over her shoulders.

She's beautiful in the morning when she wakes up with droopy eyes and a little saliva seeping out the corner of her mouth that she tries to pretend isn't there by wiping it away quickly and she's beautiful at the dead of night after drinking too much with smoky, smudged make up and glazed over eyes due to alcohol.

So Brittany's scared, because people are supposed to look their _most _beautiful on their wedding day, and Brittany's just not sure she's going to be able to take that if Santana's the person getting married because she'll _literally _be breath taking.

And as she turns around, that's exactly what happens: her breath gets taken away.

Santana's wearing a short, white, lacy dress that cuts off just shy of the knee, emphasizing her legs and Tony stands beside her, looking as dashing as always. But Brittany barely even notices that because Santana's hair's hanging long and straight down the bare expanse of her back, something her dress provides and there's a small, weaved, floral halo hovering lightly above her hair. A small bouquet of white roses is clutched in her hands, and Brittany takes a moment to laugh inwardly at how they're supposed to represent purity and innocence before her eyes drift up to Santana's face, and then for the second time in a minute, her breath is taken away. Except this time, it's for a slightly different reason than before.

The make-up covering Santana's face is natural, just a little light everything including foundation, eye shadow and mascara, though considering Santana's beautiful without make-up that's hardly surprising, but what captures Brittany's attention most is Santana's eyes.

See, Brittany's always had this thing about Santana's eyes. Not that they're beautiful or anything, because they definitely are and that's undeniable, but because Santana's eyes always seem to portray her emotions.

When she's happy, they turn into a light chocolate color and sparkle, and when she's sad they're dark and gloomy, almost distant.

When she's angry they turn almost black, and when she's calm, they're just soothing.

So when Brittany notices that they're distant, and duller than normal, all concern of her own personal feelings disappear straight out the window. She stares at Santana, and the way Santana's purposely not staring back at her and takes in her appearance, spotting little things that she didn't notice before. Like the way her hair isn't as glossy as normal, or how her skin hasn't got its usual caramel glow to it.

And the more she stares, the more her head tilts and eyebrows scrunch together because she knows why Santana looks like that. She knows everything about Santana, and she knows that right now, Santana's having a hard time keeping her mind straight. Having a hard time keeping it together and Brittany really shouldn't be feeling the relief she does because she also knows that Santana won't act on this now that more than two hundred pairs of eyes on her, and that just complete obliterates the brief wave of relief that passes through her.

She's so caught up in her thoughts, in her own emotional turmoil that she doesn't notice Santana's eyes are on her until they are. Her jaw clenches and she stares at Santana, clutching at her own dress and trying to read her best friend, but it doesn't seem to work. She can see images of Santana above her, kissing her, touching her flash behind her eyelids. She can feel the warmth of Santana's body draped over her, between her legs and on her lips, sizzle over her skin as a burnt out memory. She can smell Santana's perfume and the natural scent of her skin waft over her, her eyes fluttering shut as she remembers all three of these combined.

But it means nothing.

It means nothing when Santana's up there, about to give herself eternally to another woman.

It means nothing when Santana's dropping her eyes from Brittany's and turning away, looking back to the priest and preparing herself for what she wants forever with a deep breath.

Because what she wants isn't Brittany. No matter what happened last night.

"What was that?"

It's a hushed whisper and it takes a few moments for her to realize Rachel's speaking to her.

"Ssh," she mutters back, barely even twisting her neck.

Dark brown eyes flicker to her, and a brief smile tugs at her lips (because Santana smiling at her is just sort of amazing) but then it's quickly erased when the music picks up and there's the tell-tale sound of doors swinging open from the back of the room.

And then out comes Sophie.

But Rachel's never been anything but persistent and ignorant to anything going on around her and nudges Brittany gently with her elbow, coaxing her back into the conversation.

"No, what was that look?"

Her voice is harder now, a little louder too, and Brittany wants nothing but for the girl to shut up. They may be friends, but this is going to cause a disturbance and that's definitely _not _what she wants. Not when she knows Santana might misinterpret it for something else. Not whilst she has Santana's mother to her left, and the entire Lopez clan surrounding her in the first few rows of seating and especially not when she doesn't want anyone to know what's going on—or what _has been _going on—between her and Santana because Santana's about to get married and that's all that matters.

"It was nothing," she blurts out hurriedly and lowly. She just wants Rachel to quit talking considering it's _completely _silent apart from the light flow of piano music.

"So why did she just look at you like that?" Rachel continues and Brittany knows her friend isn't going to give up. "What happened?"

It's a testament that Rachel's noticed something going on between her and Santana considering the shorter girl's wrapped up in her own world ninety nine percent of the time, and so that could explain why she finds herself considering telling her friend, but quickly backing out when her face gets all hot at the mere _thought _of telling her. She can't do that.

"Oh my God..." Rachel whispers, her eyes growing wide. "Did you sleep with her!?"

The words are still hushed and beneath her breath, but considering the nature of them, Brittany immediately thinks the entire room can hear and whips her head around, lips parted and face shocked and okay, later she'll get why Rachel thought that because her reaction was just too quick to seem anything other but suspicious.

Rachel's eyes begin bulging out her head at the loss of words from her friend, and she gapes at Brittany, but there's something resembling disappointment flickering behind her eyes and it makes the blondes head tilt a little.

"Brittan—"

"We didn't," Brittany finally manages to get out, cursing herself for not doing it sooner. Her eyes flicker around at the few people now looking at them, and heat blooms across her skin, prickling at her face.

"Then _what_ happened?"

She resumes a somewhat forced pose with a straight back and a too-fake smile as her mind begins processing what lie she can tell, but when her mouth opens, the words just roll from her tongue and she doesn't even have enough time to reach into the air, grab them and shove them to the bottom of her pocket before Rachel's staring at her with that look again. The one with the little bit of disappointment and she honestly doesn't know whether that's Rachel just being Rachel or whether that's Rachel being disappointed in Brittany for... _not _sleeping with Santana?

"You _kissed_?"

Brittany gulps after a long moment of silence, her eyes trained on Santana as Sophie joins her. "Yeah," she admits, weakly. "But it meant nothing."

The most surprising thing isn't that Rachel's not yelling her, but it's that the only reaction Brittany gets from her is a click of the tongue which now makes Brittany think Rachel's disappointed in _her. _What the hell?

"Did you feel anything?"

Brittany clasps her hands in front of her, fingers twiddling together. "It was a mistake," she almost hisses out.

"That's not what I asked."

True, but there was a reason she dodged that question because last night, when she and Santana kissed, it was like she'd realized she'd been numb all her life. Last night, when her lips touched Santana's, when her mouth opened against Santana's and Santana's tongue stroked against her own, it was like she was finally shown warmth after knowing only cold all her life.

She felt everything. She saw everything. She knew everything, including the fact that she and Santana should have been doing that all along. Should have been kissing and touching and being together, and it brought back all those feelings from college; the ones she thought she'd forgotten. It brought back that memory of Santana's skin against hers, of how they used to touch whenever possible, no matter how unnecessary that touch may have been. It brought back that memory of Santana close to her, of Santana holding her as they fell asleep, and it brought back that rush of awe that used to strike her every time Santana smiled at her because that was _her _smile.

Except it also brought back the memory of how they decided it would be better to be friends, and it also refreshed the memory that Santana had asked another woman to spend the rest of her life with her.

"No," she lies, forcing her voice steady. "I didn't feel anything."

_"Sophie," _the priest starts up by the altar where Brittany turns her attention to. Somewhere along the line they've all sat down, and she doesn't remember it but figures she was too caught up in her thoughts and Rachel brought her down with her so she wasn't the last one standing. "_Will you take Santana to be your wife, your partner in life and your one true love? Will you cherish her friendship and love her today, tomorrow and forever? Will you trust and honor her, laugh and cry with her? Will you be faithful through good times and bag? In sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?" _

"_I do."_

So it didn't matter if Brittany felt everything. It still doesn't.

Not when Santana's up there and she's smiling as the priest repeats those lines again, directed at her.

_"Santana, will you take Sophie to be your wife, your partner in life and your one true love? Will you cherish her friendship and love her today, tomorrow and forever? Will you trust and honor her, laugh and cry with her? Will you be faithful through good times and bag? In sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?" _

And so all Brittany can do is wait, stare up at the altar and keep her eyes firmly locked on Santana as she waits for those two little words to come out, but they don't and it seems the entire room realizes the hesitation because after a beat too long, everyone holds their breath.

Then comes the silence.

The priest's eyes shift between the two brides, clearly uncomfortable and Brittany barely lets her eyes flick around the room to find the majority of the Lopez clan leaning forward in their seats, waiting for the climax. But then she catches Tony staring at her from the front pew, his eyebrow slightly raised and she wants to ask him what the hell's going on because he's the last one that talked to her, he's the one that walked her down the aisle, but that'd mean speaking and she doesn't want to lose focus on the hesitation.

She also can't help but wonder if the hesitation is because of her.

It's selfish, and highly unlikely, but as she stares at Santana, almost wanting to reach out, grab her by the shoulders and get her to respond because Brittany just _needs _to know whether Santana wants to marry this woman or not, she realizes that Santana's deep in thought. She has that cloud of her eyes, the one that only occurs when she's thinking about something really hard and a smile threatens to curve at her lips because she knows it. Hell, she's pretty sure the entire room knows it, including Sophie, that Santana's having doubts.

Not even the cold feet ones before the wedding. She's having doubts right in the middle of the ceremony and that's just _so _Santana because she always waits until the very end before realization smacks her in the face. Last night was evidence of that.

But Brittany does nothing but hold her breath, just like the entire room, watching this.

Sophie's eyes begin darting from side to side and Brittany's eyes flick down just in time to see the way Sophie squeezes Santana's hands, trying to coax her back into the room but that's not going to do it. Nothing ever gets Santana out of her thoughts apart from being spoken to. It's always been like that, ever since she was a child and anger begins bubbling inside of Brittany as she thinks of how Sophie doesn't know that. Like seriously, they're about to get married and Sophie doesn't even know one of the most basic things about Santana?

"_Santana?"_

The priest finally steps in, urging Santana on nervously and it's only by the call of her name that Santana comes back into the room, her head lifting and eyes focusing as they shift to the priest. Panic seeps in immediately, Santana's shoulders tensing as she realizes she was just caught hesitating and Brittany's fingers ache where they're clutching onto the seat of the pew she's sitting on.

"_Will you be faithful through good times and bad, in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"_

Throat thick and mouth dry, Brittany finds herself wanting to gasp in a deep breath, but she doesn't want to miss a thing and keeps steady, her body still craned forward, eyes wide, focused and ears perked. Her eyes roam over Santana's body language, over her facial expression and she knows her best friend's panicking and fearing that people know what she's thinking; and even though that probably shouldn't make Brittany want to smile it does because what else wouldn't Santana want to know?

Santana was thinking about their kiss.

"_I do."_

It happens so fast that Brittany almost chokes on the gasp she takes in.

"_I will," _Santana says, nodding firmly and releasing a deep breath.

Hurt burns through Brittany's body, hot and sharp and she ducks her head at the same time someone brushes their fingertips over the back of her hand. She doesn't even look up to acknowledge or thank Rachel's affection, so she just keeps her head down, willing herself not to cry but knowing she's got to cut this out because she has no reason to feel this way.

Santana's her best friend.

Last night was a mistake.

She'd bet anything that Santana thinks that too, no matter how much that tiny little voice in the back of Brittany's mind is saying they both know completely different. The one that's saying she should be the one up there. That she should be the one with the impossibly large grin and overwhelming happiness thrumming through her body. That little voice that's saying that Brittany should have said something, should have done the cliché movie thing and stood up when the priest asked about objections to tell Santana that even she knows this is wrong.

But that little voice is pointless. It's little, and buried deep within the back of her mind; and it's not like it matters anymore anyway.

Especially not now Santana's sliding the ring up Sophie's finger and closing the gap between their bodies, pressing their lips together and smiling as the entire room bursts into a round of applause. Especially not when Santana's taking a step back and beaming at Sophie with unbridled affection, tilting her head a little awkwardly like she's trying not to look to the left, or just has a really stiff neck from like, a bad nights sleep or something.

"_And now, if the congregation would please stand," _the priest announces and Rachel's fingers wrap around her hand, grasping it tightly and comfortingly. _"I present to you, Sophie and Santana Bexler-Lopez."_

Brittany sucks in a deep shaky breath as she rises, shouting at herself for being so stupid and thinking that last night meant more than it did. It was a mistake, and she's only feeling like this because her best friend's getting married. She's just sad because instead of a date, she has Rachel sitting next to her, and she won't lie, she is happy that Santana's found someone and is in love. She's happy because that's all Brittany's ever wanted for Santana: to be happy, and that's what she has.

Santana and Sophie step down from the altar, their fingers sliding together as Santana leads them down the aisle, lifting her hand up mockingly as a suited man with a professional looking camera crouches in front of them and snaps a few shots. Brittany manages a smile at that, watching her best friend smile as those dark eyes roam over the first few pews, taking in the sight of how the entire Lopez clan is celebrating and grinning as the newlyweds make their way down the aisle, slowly, a sparkle in both sets of eyes.

Confetti is thrown into the air as everyone cheers and claps, and Brittany's smile feels a little more real as she begins clapping too, thankful that she has her back to Tony now because she can feel his eyes burning into the back of her head. It must be a Lopez thing, because she can feel in the way those dark eyes stare at her what they're really trying to say.

Still, she makes a point to ignore it and laughs as one of Santana's younger cousins 'whoops' into the air and whistles after them, earning several smacks in the back of his head from several family members surrounding him.

Though she's so focused on how she's ignoring Tony that she completely forgets to ignore Santana, and it gets even harder to do that when Santana's eyes slide to her, Santana's smile faltering when their eyes meet. And she tries to convey the happiness, tries to tell Santana with her eyes that she's glad she has Sophie with a light smile, but even she can feel that it doesn't reach her eyes, that it's a load of crap and just continues to slow clap along with the crowd, staring until Santana pinches her lips up at the side, drops her gaze to the floor and continues down the aisle with Sophie.

With her wife.


	17. Sometimes It's Gonna Rain

**Title: **Sometimes It's Gonna Rain  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Word Count: **17.4k  
**Summary: **She's never liked going to sleep when Brittany's mad at her.

**Notes: **It's been 84 years... okay, maybe not, but it's still been a freaking long ass time since I updated this. I do apologize, but if you follow my stories, you might have noticed I've been working on another G!P fic which apparently has become quite popular and so I haven't really focused on anything else. But per request of my beta and a few readers, I decided to update this before the last update for NKIN. So hope you enjoy, and as always, if you have any prompts that you'd like to be fulfilled for this universe, send me a PM or head straight to my Tumblr (my pen name and the usual Tumblr URL) and drop it in the ask box :) Thanks guys!

/

"Babe?"

Santana looks up from the gossip mag in hand, eying her wife from the sofa. "Yeah?"

Brittany wanders in from the kitchen, clutching a plate full of cut up sandwiches and Santana just watches her, bare feet padding over the floor and baggy gray sweatpants hanging low on her hips and honestly, she'll never tire of this sight. She thinks it might be one of her top five best things about being married; having someone—no, having _Brittany—_just look so damn comfortable in a place they can call their own. It may even reach the top three best things, actually.

She's still staring at the doorway to the kitchen when the sofa dips beside her, a warm body pressing against her side and she shakes herself out of it, glancing down at the plate of triangle sandwiches being set on her lap and knows it's Elijah's lunch leftovers. The sandwiches are filled with peanut butter and jelly, peanut butter, jelly and Fluff too, by the looks of it and she almost rolls her eyes lovingly but then Brittany tilts her head back and presses a kiss to the underside of her jaw and she forgets to do it.

"You're not busy next Saturday," Brittany starts, taking a mouthful of sandwich. "Are you?"

Too distracted by the blue eyes staring straight at her, Santana takes a long moment before replying. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Some guys came by the studio earlier," her wife explains, body shifting so her back is pressed against Santana's side as her eyes goes to the TV. "And we're having a really big, important meeting next week about possibly setting up another studio in Chicago or LA or somewhere. I want you to come."

A soft smile plays at Santana's lips as her arm winds around Brittany's waist and hand dips beneath her shirt, fingertips gliding over smooth skin. Brittany shudders beneath the touch and leans back further into her.

"Of course I'll be there," she says, dropping a kiss to a head of blonde hair. "Who's going?"

Brittany swallows her mouthful. "Well," she starts and Santana gets the feeling she's not going to like what's coming. "I mean, technically it's just supposed to be me and Mike."

Yep. She doesn't like it. And Brittany must get this because she grabs the plate of Santana's lap and sets it on the coffee table before turning around and throwing a leg over Santana's thighs until her knees are bracketing Santana's hips. Hands cup her cheeks and her own ones instantly drop to run up Brittany's thighs, suddenly hating these sweatpants that a moment ago she was admiring.

"_But _I want to bring you because I love_you_," Brittany continues, her eyes flickering between Santana's. "And I know that in spite of Mike and Tina being together, and you and me being madly in love and have a son—who, by the way, snores like a monster truck—you still get a little touchy over me and Mike being together."

Santana laughs a little, rolls her eyes playfully and sits up, letting her hands slide around to Brittany's ass, pulling them closer together. "Firstly, Eli does not snore like a monster truck," she tries to correct even though she's heard their son and yeah, he may be coming up for two but he sounds like a motocross bike when he's asleep. "And secondly, he still stares a little too long despite having a girlfriend. I'm pretty sure Tina would be pissed if he caught her looking."

"Well that doesn't matter," Brittany lifts both eyebrows pointedly. "Because I only have eyes for one person."

Santana smiles bashfully, dipping her head a little. Somehow she still manages to get all embarrassed when her wife look at her like this; like she's the only thing in the room. "Yeah?" She asks quietly. Brittany giggles and nods.

"Yeah," she says. "Because, you know... this person is..." she trails off, her eyes drifting upwards to think. "She's pretty amazing," she finally lands on, meeting brown eyes once more.

Santana smirks. "Oh, yeah?" She questions, leaning up and pressing her lips to the underside of Brittany's jaw several times. "How so?"

Brittany shivers beneath the kisses, tilting her head to the side as her hands grab at Santana's shoulders. "Well, um..." her voice trails off and Santana smirks wider against the skin of her neck, already feeling herself press against the inside of her boxers as she pulls Brittany's hips down at the same time she pushes up with her own. "The person I have... eyes for is... she's gorgeous... and, um... funny and... she's caring and..." Her voice is a little shaky and it just drives Santana on as her hands slide up and dip beneath the waistband of her sweatpants and panties, fingers grasping at the flesh of her ass and massaging gently as appreciative moans and gasps come from Brittany. "Everything I want... and she's the love of... she's the love of my..."

Her voice trails off, and Santana can imagine the dazed little look Brittany has in her eyes as they flutter, the fight going on inside her head of whether she should continue talking or just shut up and give in to the inevitable. So deciding to tease, Santana lets her tongue slide up the muscle in Brittany's neck once before she pulls back and allows herself to listen, enjoying the way Brittany pouts instantly at the loss of contact.

"She's the what, Britt Britt?" Santana asks innocently since the way their hips are rocking together isn't giving the same vibe.

Brittany's back buckles a bit when Santana pushes the sweatpants down as far as they'll go and dips her fingers between her legs, running over her folds but not dipping in. Her wife grinds down a little, and she smirks when Brittany makes a low whining sound because Santana's clearly not doing what she wants. But she likes teasing Brittany. She likes knowing that even though they're married and have a kid, they're still crazy about each other and still want each other the way they did when they first got together. Emotionally and sexually.

She just likes the reassurance, despite not needing it, and as she looks up at Brittany now, her own eyes growing dark as heat spreads across her skin, and watches blue eyes flutter shut, a pink lip being bitten between perfect, white teeth and the crinkle appear in Brittany's eyebrow that tells her Brittany needs more, Santana realizes that she's never going to stop wanting this woman. _Never._

"_San..._**" **Brittany groans impatiently, and Santana manages to shake her thoughts as she presses a little harder, but still refusing to dip in.

"Weren't you saying something?" She teases and Brittany grinds down again, forcing the fingers against her a little harder but then a wicked idea comes to mind and Santana retracts her hand swiftly, letting it sit beside her. Blue eyes snap open, glaring down at her with a heavily aroused but slightly pissed off and surprised flash behind them, though Santana just grins, knowing exactly what she's doing and lifts both eyebrows, pretending like she doesn't.

"What'd you do that for?" Brittany basically hisses, her arms folding over her chest.

Santana smirks. "I was distracting you, so I thought if I stopped, you'd be able to finish your sentence."

Pink lips drop open in disbelief, but then Brittany's face blanks out into a very unamused expression and Santana finds it so damn funny she just begins chuckling to herself, knowing exactly how sexually frustrated her wife is now just by the way she's glaring and still rocking her hips a little, like she's subtly trying to gain as much friction as she can.

"Well I can't now because the _love of my life_," Brittany enunciates. "_Wouldn't _blue ball me."

Santana grins even wider, and she doesn't really know why she finds an angry, pouting Brittany so cute and funny, but she just does. She guesses it's part of the whole being in love thing, though.

"You can't even get blue balled, Britt," she replies, still laughing a little. "But it was nice to hear you finish your sentence," she sets her hands on Brittany's thighs, stroking up and down them, squeezing gently. Though it really seems her wife's pissed off because she just stares, and after a few moments of silence, Santana starts feeling a little bad and puts on a pout of her own, glancing up through her eyelashes. "Are you really mad?" She asks, quietly. She didn't mean to _really _piss her off, she was just teasing.

Brittany keeps up the silent treatment, her eyes trying to stay away from brown ones as she glances around the apartment but Santana doesn't miss the way her wife keeps looking back, her eyes flickering to her then away, and she knows that no, Brittany's not _actually _pissed at her. Well, maybe a little but not enough to cause an argument, thank _God_. They have a clean track record with that and have managed to surpass any major arguments. Obviously they've gotten mad at each other and that crap, but they've never really got into a situation where they physically can't look at each other.

She hopes they never do.

"No," Brittany finally sighs, dropping her hands on top of tanned ones and stroking her thumbs up nimble fingers, her eyes locked on to the movement. "But you better make it up to me," she suggests, her voice unable to hide the lust dripping from it.

So Santana grins and acts quickly, sliding her hands beneath Brittany's thighs, grips and pushes up, twisting around until they're lying lengthways on the sofa, her hips fitting between her wife's and her bulge pressing down in the right spot. The blonde lets out a yelp, her arms flinging out and wrapping around her back and Santana smirks and giggles as she lowers her lips to Brittany's, kissing her deeply, but softly, one hand coming up to cup her cheek; and it takes the blonde a few seconds to kiss back, clearly still shocked from the sudden switch in position but when she does, her tongue dips into Santana's mouth and well, Santana all about dies from how hard her heart hammers against her ribcage.

Even after three years and a half years of being together, marriage and dating included, Brittany still can take Santana's breath away with a single kiss.

"You're such an ass," Brittany mumbles against Santana's mouth, her hands combing through dark hair, nails scratching at her scalp, but there's an underlying tone of amusement and affection and

Santana giggles, because yeah, she totally is.

But the sound is quickly lost against her wife's mouth as Brittany kisses her harder, her hand trailing down to grip at her through her boxers.

/

The only thing Santana dislikes about her job is that the hours fluctuate so often and she rarely knows whether she'll be home on time or later or earlier.

It's pretty hard to keep up with, seeing as she now has three artists on her label, but she still loves it and it's not like it's all the time; but it's still often enough to piss her off because when she gets home, there's a Tupperware box with a post-it note on it and her son and her wife are both fast asleep and she loves her family. She wants to spend time with them.

But shit happens, and tonight just happens to be one of those nights.

She gets caught up in a meeting with several Japanese businessmen and Quinn, and the damn translator doesn't turn up which leaves them unable to understand each other. Luckily, they find another translator but he's all the way across town and by the time he gets there, they've already overrun their meeting by two hours and since they're returning to Japan, this is Santana and Quinn's only chance to give them a good enough reason to support them financially.

And they manage to do it. So after the long ass meeting, they pack up their stuff, grab their coats and head out the studio, locking it behind them.

Santana pulls on the lapels of her jacket, trying to hide the chill that creeps down her spine from the wind and cracks her neck from side to side. She could really do with a massage or a hot bath, right now.

"Well," Quinn starts, stepping up beside her and tying up the front of her trench coat. "I reckon we deserve a beer."

For a second, Santana continues just heading home, getting into the bath and then getting into bed. For a second, she considers just heading back home, kissing her son and dropping into her wife's arms, but then that second passes and suddenly she's craving the feel of ice cold beer tipping down her throat and can't resist. So she shrugs, gives one final tug to the lapels of her jacket to cover her neck and looks to her friend.

"I could do with a beer," she agrees and Quinn shoots her a smile before they both head off down the street to Barney's.

/

She sits in the booth while Quinn heads up to the bar to order their drinks.

There's a part of her that just wants to go home and be with Brittany and Elijah, but she knows she does deserve a few drinks and so why the hell not? It's not like she has any other plans and she just wants to chill with her best friend in a non-work environment for a bit. Nowadays, either she's at home, dropping off at the table covered with paperwork, or she's at the studio with Quinn, going over songs or sitting in ridiculous meetings with foreign investors.

And hell, now it's Friday and she's got the weekend off, so it's not like she has to split the time between her family and her friends because right now, is friend time. The rest of the weekend is for her family.

_God, _she really does love her family.

The booth creaks slightly as someone slides into it, and Santana tilts her head back down from where she was leaning it against the back of the seat to look to her friend. Quinn gives her a smile and slides a glass, of what she suspects to be a decent scotch, over to her. She offers a nod back, a silent thank you, and they both raise their glasses in the air, tipping the sides of them together and meeting eyes.

"To the weekend off," Quinn announces with a grin.

"And what a great weekend it'll be," Santana adds on and they both laugh before downing their scotch in one and signaling Barney for another two.

/

It's quarter to eleven by the time Quinn's phone rings.

Santana barely even notices as she's standing at the bar, chatting with Barney about the latest Lakers game, but she hears the sound of it and peers over her shoulder, throwing a brief look to find her friend sitting in the booth, arm thrown across the top of it with the other tucked by her chest, hand holding the phone to her ear. She laughs a little, immediately knowing it's Rachel by the stupid smile on Quinn's face, and so she doesn't pay much attention and instead finishes up her conversation, grabs the glasses of scotch on the bar and gives Barney a wink as he heads off to a cute redhead down the other end of the bar.

She slides into the booth and pushes one scotch across to her friend before bringing her own to her lips and taking a sip. Her eyes roam around the bar as she tries not to listen to the blonde chatter on to her wife, because she doesn't feel like vomiting across the table at their revolting declarations of love (they're still the same as when they first met), but when Quinn goes quiet she returns her vision and glances back to her, cocking a brow.

Quinn's just looking at her, eyes growing wide and mouth parting, and Santana gets this strange discomfort in her stomach as her friend just kind of... _observes _her.

"Uh, yeah, she's here with me," the blonde utters, her voice distant.

Santana cocks her head to the side, her nose scrunching a little because she's sure her friend's talking about her, but she doesn't know why.

"No, we, erm—" Quinn pauses and scratches her eyebrow, her face suddenly twisting and turning apologetic. "We forgot, babe."

Still, Santana remains confused by the lack of information, and by the coldness in her stomach.

"Yeah... I'll—I'll tell her. Okay, bye," Quinn finally hangs up the phone and in a calm manner, sets it down on the table and sucks in her lips as she looks to Santana. "That was Rachel."

A perfectly shaped eyebrow lifts. "I guessed," she replies, sarcastically. "What did she want?"

After clearing her throat, the blonde shifts in her seat, hazel eyes dropping to the table as she pushes her glass around the top of it, and Santana feels the irritation grow inside of her at the silence that stretches between them. So much so that after a whole minute of not replying, she reaches across, puts her hand on top of Quinn's scotch glass and lowers her head until the blonde lifts hers and stares apologetically into her eyes.

"Spill," she demands and the apology on Quinn's face grows as her expression twists.

"Okay..." the blonde drags out the word and leans forward, forearms pressed to the table and tongue poking out to wet her lips. "So... that was Rachel." Santana nods because _yeah, _they already established that. "And, erm..." She pauses and scrunches up her face, almost in a wince as she continues with, "She has Eli."

The first thought that pops into Santana's head is why the hell her son is with someone smaller than him, and her face screws up, confusion etching into her features.

But then she thinks about it—like, _really _thinks about it—and she swears she actually stops breathing when she remembers—

"The meal with Brittany," she gasps, her mouth dropping open and throat drying. Shit, she can't believe she fucking forgot it!

Quinn slowly bobs her head, agreeing and Santana can tell by the way she's leaning back that she's cared she's going to leap across the table and strangle her considering going for drinks with her idea, but Santana's way too preoccupied with clutching to the table dramatically and thinking about how freaking pissed off her wife's going to be with her next time they see each other. She honestly couldn't give two shits if Quinn's worried about getting a slap because Santana's fucking terrified that she's upset Brittany.

In all her life, the one thing she's hated doing is letting Brittany down. She's done it before, because she's only human and humans make mistakes, but one of her vows when they got married was that she'd never do it again. She vowed that she'd never let her wife down again because she hated making Brittany feel like that, and consequentially hated herself for it.

Yet here she is, sitting in a damn bar while her wife's probably pissed as hell somewhere else.

Why the hell isn't she going?

"Santana, you need to go!" Quinn finally yells and kicks Santana's focus from her thoughts to the present.

Brown eyes flicker to the jacket the blonde flings toward her and she manages to grab it before it hits her in the face. Then she slides out the booth and stumbles over her own feet as she sprints out the bar, heading home with a dangerously high heart beat.

/

She has absolute no concept of what time it is as she runs home.

Her legs are burning, her throat is yearning for water, and she's pretty damn sure when the adrenaline stops, she's actually going to pass out.

It's not like she's unfit or anything, but with the combination of this sudden sprint and the fear gripping her chest of how angry Brittany's going to be at her, she's pretty much dying.

Still, she pushes back all her thoughts just so she can solely focus on getting home, because at this moment, she's not sure whether her wife's even back or not, and if she isn't, she has a fighting chance of Brittany letting her off if she pretends to pass out on the couch or something.

But if she's back already... well, Santana's pretty much screwed.

/

The second she bursts in through the front door, she's whipping her head from side to side, ignoring her heavy breath and heaving chest and instead searching for something.

And then she finds it, and her heart almost stops beating because _fuck, _Brittany's home.

Her boots are strewn across the living room floor, her bag haphazardly placed on the corner of the kitchen table and her coat is dangling off the back of the sofa, and Santana's been best friends and married long enough to Brittany to know that this means she is _pissed._

She's wincing at the argument she knows is going to come almost immediately, and she wonders for a second whether she could just go back out. Maybe head back to Barney's, or even drop by Quinn's and stay there. Though she acknowledges the flaws in that, and knows it's probably better to just face the fucking music now because if she goes out again, there's no doubt she's going to receive double the shit tomorrow morning for not coming home at all.

So taking in a deep breath, she heads through the apartment with her head hanging down and presses her palm flat to the bedroom door when she gets there, cautiously opening it, revealing more and more of the bedroom until—

"I know you're there," Brittany's voice flows out through the crack, her voice monotone. "I heard you come through the front door."

Santana closes her eyes and exhales loudly as she pushes the door the rest of the way open to find her wife sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard with her legs covered by the comforter and her arms crossed over her chest. Like Santana expected, Brittany looks pissed as hell, especially seeing as she's wearing her glasses which she never wears (as she doesn't really need to) and she only ever wears them when they've got some role play going on before sexy times, or when Brittany's angry.

She takes in a shaky breath and lowers her gaze, slowly stepping inside the room and closing the door behind her.

_Damn – _how Santana wishes it wasn't the latter.

/

There's not a whole lot of shouting.

In fact, there's not a whole lot of _talking_.

The second Santana perches gingerly on the edge of the bed by Brittany's hip, and reaches for her wife's arm, the blonde scoots and leans away, shaking her head. Santana ducks her chin to her chest immediately, feeling like a child that's just had her teddy bear taken away from her and slowly pulls her hand back into her lap, her shoulders lowering and body deflating. She fucking hates it when she does something wrong and when she pisses Brittany off. Her wife has a way about her that somehow manages to make her feel three times as bad as she probably should... though she doesn't feel bad for doing anything wrong to anyone _but _Brittany, so maybe this is just what guilt is for her.

But still, it doesn't mean she likes it any more.

That's not what she's going to say though because she just wants to make up with her wife and apologize for missing the meeting. She just wants to get past this because she hates fighting with Brittany. She hated it the first (proper) time they fought all those years ago when Brittany thought she was staring at the pregnant women in the supermarket, when in reality Santana was imagining starting a family with her, and she still hates it now.

"Britt, I—"

"Don't, Santana," Brittany hisses, her voice low and serious.

Santana winces and furrows her brow. "Britt, I didn't _mean_to miss it," she tries but the blonde doesn't even meet her searching eyes. "I just had _such _a busy day and then Quinn said we should go out for a celebratory drink as we got the Japanese guys to back up our funds," she pauses for a second to see if Brittany gives her a smile or even reacts to the good news but nope. Nothing. She's not actually that surprised. "And I just went and completely forgot," she says and lets her hand creep along the comforter, fingers stretching out and the pads of them fluttering over the comforter covering Brittany's thigh but the blonde doesn't even move, just keeps staring ahead with a hard expression.

In reaction, Santana's bottom lip pokes out into a pout and she shrinks away again, rejection pouring through her veins. She doesn't know what else to say and she really does feel like shit.

"I didn't mean to," she adds, her face twisting with guilt, but her wife still stays silent. "Britt," she calls softly but still, _nothing._Nada. "Baby, please," she murmurs, her voice breaking because shit, Brittany certainly knows how to make a girl feel like crap. "I really—"

"You _knew _how important this meeting was to me," Brittany finally speaks, though her voice is monotone, her tone almost dead and Santana winces because she _never _hears it like this. "You _knew, _and the least you could've done was set a reminder, or an alarm, or something." Blue eyes flicker to brown ones quickly. "You could've done _anything _to make sure you remembered, Santana."

With the use of her full name, Santana leans back and straightens up because she already knows trying to apologize is a lost cause. She knows there's no way in hell that she's going to be able to make it up to her wife now, not while Brittany's _this_pissed off, and she doesn't want to leave. She doesn't want to get into bed and sleep next to her wife because she just wants to stay awake and talk it out, apologize and maybe get to kiss her wife goodnight the same way she has done for a number of years. She just wants Brittany _not _to be mad at her.

But there's a part of her that knows that's not going to happen.

_Fuck._

"I know, baby. I know I should've—"

"If you didn't want to come," Brittany interjects and stares at her for longer than a second now, holding her gaze with fiery blue eyes. "You could've just said."

Santana freezes at the words, her eyebrows knitting together and head tilting slightly. That's not why she didn't go. She _did _want to go to the meeting because she knew how important it was to her wife. She wanted to be there to listen to her success, to be a part of it, and to celebrate with her... and she thought Brittany knew that. But apparently the blonde doesn't and Santana isn't sure whether to be offended that Brittany thought she'd lie to her, or whether she should just focus on trying to apologize.

The latter seems like the better option.

"Britt, I di—"

"Don't," the blonde cuts in and Santana clenches her jaw because Brittany _knows _how much people cutting her off mid-sentence pisses her off. Though Santana supposes that she knows how much Brittany hates people canceling plans or not turning up so maybe this is fair. "Just..." Brittany lets her eyes fall shut and breathes out heavily through her nostrils, the skin around her jaw tightening, her features contorting with anger. "I'm tired," she finally lands on and lifts an arm, stretching out a finger and pointing it toward the other side of the room.

Santana follows to where her wife's pointing and stops short, her breath catching when she finds two pillows and the spare duvet sitting on top of the dresser. She slowly turns back to her wife, eyes narrowing into a squint of disbelief and tries to figure out any other alternative motive for putting out additional sleeping stuff, but she can't come up with any.

Which leads her to say, "Are you seriously making me sleep on the couch?" Because that's the only reason Brittany would've put that crap there.

But the blonde doesn't respond. She doesn't even change her expression, just wets her lips, sucks them into her mouth and nods a little before scooting further down the bed, moving into a lying position and reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp, leaving the room to fall into darkness. Santana doesn't really know what to do as she sits there, and she kind of gets irritated and frankly, a little pissed off too, because Brittany could at least fucking _speak _to her if she's kicking her out the bedroom.

Except she already knew trying to talk it out was a lost cause, and as much as she doesn't want to go to sleep with Brittany mad at her, she knows she's going to have to.

So with a shake of her head at herself, she reaches up to squeeze Brittany's hip carefully—receiving no reaction whatsoever—and then stands from the bed, exhaling loudly through her nose as she grabs the sleeping stuff and a tank top from the dresser. Then she heads out the bedroom, but not before casting one longing stare back to the shape of her wife in their bed, on the right side, before she closes the door and moves to the sofa for an uncomfortable night's sleep.

_Just great._

/

The early hours of the morning pass and before she knows it she's staring at the clock on the DVD player across the living room and watching the minutes tick by until 3am comes.

She's never been able to sleep without Brittany beside her.

She remembers back when she first moved out of Brittany's apartment after Sophie moved to California, and managed to spend a total of six hours there before she ran back to Brittany's, then subsequently moved in the very next day. She's always sucked at going without it; without that warmth, without knowing that Brittany's there, without the feel of Brittany's weight dipping in the space beside her.

She's just no good at it and she really wishes she wasn't lying on a cold, hard sofa, staring at the ceiling and wondering why she didn't have the foresight to set a freaking reminder on her phone or whatever.

Two minutes after sparing a glance at the clock, Santana hears rustling, the creak of a door and then the sound of soft, graceful footsteps making their way down the hallway. She sits up, ready to face Brittany, to see what she's doing but then the footsteps pause for five long seconds, then start again and then there's the sound of a door shutting again. Which is weird because she's lived here for so long that she knows that was the same door opening and closing, and now she's wondering why Brittany got out of bed.

With curiosity running through her veins, and the classic need-to-know-everything way that she always manages to maintain, she throws the blanket off her legs and stands, rubbing the back of her neck as she heads toward the hallway. When she gets there, she pauses and peers down it, only coming up with darkness and the outlines of the doors connecting to bedrooms and the bathroom. Though she notices as she takes a step forward, that there's a line of light casting across the hardwood floors, coming from the gap between the base of her and Brittany's bedroom door and the floor, which can only mean one thing.

Brittany's awake.

She smiles a little to herself, knowing exactly why her wife's not asleep because it's the same reason _she's _not asleep, and makes her way down the hallway to her bedroom. For the past few hours she's been tossing and turning, and she knows that Brittany's been doing it to, but due to their current silence and ongoing argument (she thinks ongoing anyway), Brittany's probably being too stubborn and not bothering to call Santana back into bed and enable herself to _finally _get to sleep, because the cold hard truth is that she can't sleep without Santana and Santana can't sleep without her.

Except Santana knows that, hence why she's currently smirking to herself as she places her palm against the door and pushes it open slightly.

The second it opens even a little, the damn hinges—that she always forgets to oil even though Brittany's asked her a million times—creaks, and she freezes, knowing that she's made Brittany aware of her presence. And just as she expects, the light flickers off and Santana's surrounded in darkness again, hand on the doorknob and door slightly open.

She lets out a long sigh, ignoring the fact that Brittany's now pretending that she wasn't awake and is now making light snoring sounds that are actually freakishly good, and pushes on the door, stepping inside and closing it behind her. Then she stays silent, just listening to the sound of her wife trying to breathe out slowly and on a certain pattern, trying to match the one she usually has even though that possesses no logic—how could Brittany know her breathing pattern when she's asleep if she's asleep?—and after a few moments, she just ends up shaking her head again and speaking.

"I know you're awake," she calls out softly and the blonde in the bed shows no sign of acknowledging her words or even her presence. So Santana shakes her head again and steps forward, making her way _incredibly _slowly toward the bed until she steps on the floorboard that creaks on her side, the left one, before she stops to continue. "I can't sleep," her voice is breathless, pained, too, and Brittany's still not responding.

It's not like Santana Lopez to just give up though, not without a damn fight, so she stands there for a long moment, just watching her wife carry on ignoring her and holds her breath. She knows she could get irritated, she could get pissed because she's _tried_to apologize, she's _tried _to make up with Brittany because it's not like she freaking _meant _to miss that meeting — she just forgot — and Brittany should fucking know that Santana would never intentionally do something to piss her off, to disappoint her or to hurt her, so why the hell isn't she just forgiving her?

Except it probably wouldn't be the best idea to get irritated because she has a tendency to say things she doesn't mean when she's angry. Plus her anger would totally be irrational, and it would only create more problems.

So instead she just stays put and waits it out, hoping that Brittany might forgive her some time in the near future.

Though it doesn't happen.

Exactly eight minutes later and Brittany's still pretending like Santana hasn't been talking to her and like she's still awake and Santana knows this is pointless.

Don't get her wrong, she really wants to make up with Brittany, and not just for the incredible make-up sex afterward. She just wants to sleep with her in her arms for tonight. She just wants to have some peace and she just wants calmness between them because when the world has been crazy, when her day has been shit, Brittany's always the one that can make the worst of days feel like the best because at the end of the day, Santana gets Brittany and that's all that really matters.

She doesn't want her wife to stay mad at her, she loves her and just wants normality restored.

But as she stands here, she realizes that tonight, that isn't going to happen.

And even though she's clinging on to the last shred of hope as she exhales heavily, slumps her shoulders and back and drags her feet as she heads back toward the door, she knows that it's useless.

Brittany's not going to forgive her tonight.

No matter what.

/

The first time she hears it, she thinks she's dreaming.

She thinks that she must have fallen asleep on the walk from her side of the bed to the bedroom door because she was so sure Brittany wasn't even going to acknowledge her existence.

Still, she pauses, hand reaching for the door knob and twists her neck slowly, glancing over her shoulder at the bundled form in the bed and is confused to find the lack of blue eyes staring back at her.

Did she dream it?

"What?" She says, but it's low and she doesn't actually know if she heard it, let alone her wife.

For a second, for a split fucking second, she actually thinks she's going crazy because she was so sure she just heard Brittany ask her why she couldn't sleep, but now the blonde's deciding to stay completely silent once again, if Santana _did _in fact hear that, and so Santana decides to sigh again and reach for the door knob.

This time though, she definitely _doesn't _mistake herself for hearing it.

"I asked why you can't sleep," comes a little voice, muffled by a pillow or a comforter and Santana feels a smile threatening to pull at her lips because she knows Brittany's already debating whether or not to forgive her.

She doesn't show that though and instead goes for broke, deciding that there's no point in pretending like there's another reason why she can't sleep because there is only _one _reason. And that reason is lying in her bed, or rather _their _bed.

"Because I can't sleep without you next to me," she lets out through a long exhale and bites down on her bottom lip, nervously awaiting her reply, which doesn't actually come for a while.

It doesn't come for exactly three hundred and two seconds, and Santana does debate whether choosing to leave again but knowing her track record, the second she moves to leave, Brittany will say something and reel her back in. And that's exactly what happens because the second she even moves her foot, she hears the rustling movement and then she's watching Brittany shift in the bed, roll onto her back and then prop herself up on her elbows, head tilting down, chin tucking to her chest so she can look at Santana.

They just stay in their places, gazing for a little while, and Santana actually finds herself having a hard time reading her wife. That like... _never _happens, and so she's a little confused and worried, though she does put it down to the lack of light because it's all in Brittany's eyes and she can't _really _see them right now.

(Well, that's what she's telling herself.)

(She's actually terrified she's _really _pissed her wife off now. Like more than ever before.)

"Neither can I," breaks her out of her thoughts and she whips her head up, unaware of when she ducked it and dropped her eyes to the floor. Brittany's staring at her now, and Santana can't really see her eyes any more so than before, but she's imagining them brighter now because Brittany's voice isn't low and angered like before. She takes a step forward at the same time her wife continues talking, "Come here."

There's a flutter of movement and then Brittany's peeling back the made-up side of the bed, the sheets, and welcoming Santana in, and Santana damn near jumps onto the bed to be closer to her wife, but chooses to keep her cool and her head down as she walks toward her side of the bed, sliding in and rolling onto her side to face her wife. Brittany doesn't face her though; in fact, she rolls onto her own side, purposely facing _away _from Santana and it hits Santana where it hurts because she thought this, as in sharing a bed despite being mad, at least meant she wouldn't be ignored.

But apparently not.

/

After five minutes of staring at the back of her wife's head, she lets out a long, over exaggerated exhale and begins to turn over, because she knows her body will automatically gravitate toward Brittany's if she doesn't.

Except she doesn't get far because when she shifts to move onto her back, long fingers wrap around her wrist and then she's being pulled forward, her body scooting across the mattress until her front's pressed against Brittany's back. Shock surges through her, and confusion, too, because she was so sure Brittany was mad at her. But she's not an idiot, she knows if she comments on it then Brittany will probably push her away and so she doesn't argue—she doesn't _want _to argue—and instead clamps her mouth shut and settles in comfortably, her hand pressing palm down against her wife's stomach and a breathy sigh leaving her mouth when Brittany's fingers smooth down her forearm, over the back of her hand and then fall into place between the gaps in her own tanned fingers.

"I'm still mad at you," Brittany grumbles into the pillow, words muffled a little.

Santana pinches her lips up at the side but nods because, yeah, she totally knew that, and presses her lips down onto her wife's uncovered shoulder as she holds her close.

"I know, baby," she whispers, her hips fitting perfectly against the curve of Brittany's ass.

Brittany just hums in response, and within the next couple of minutes, they both fall asleep with ease.

/

When she wakes in the morning, it's to the cold side of a bed.

She reels back instantly, wincing at the cold sheet pressing against her cheek when she rolls over instinctively to find Brittany, and sits up immediately, eyes searching the room as she questions why Brittany's out of bed so early. That never happens, and especially not on weekends—

_Oh._

The night before comes rushing back to her and she slumps back down onto the bed, feeling like she could throw a tantrum with the way she feels right now. She feels shitty, like _really _fucking shitty, and she knows she's not being a good wife which just makes her feel angry at herself.

She doesn't want to fight with Brittany, and she knows when she steps out the bedroom, she's not going to be greeted with a bright smile and a soft, good morning kiss that usually leads to a few more and then Brittany up on the counter with Santana standing between her legs as they delve into a good morning make-out session that usually ends with Eli calling for one of them from his bedroom.

She's not going to get to feel the love, warmth and affection seep through her chest, and she's not going to feel her heart swoon when Brittany looks at her like she's the best thing in the world.

She's just not going to have a reason to smile this morning.

And this just fucking _sucks._

/

After deciding it wouldn't help at all if she just stayed in bed and threw a strop like a freaking child, she decided to kick her ass into gear and go and shower.

She washed her hair, ignored the emptiness she felt when minutes into her shower because she didn't feel the cool rush of air and then Brittany's body press against her and a kiss drop to her shoulder (that usually happens with her morning showers) and got it over and done with. Her hair took half an hour, and after Brittany hadn't come to see her at all during the time she was getting dressed _and _doing her hair, she figured she should probably go out there and make the first move.

It was _her _to fuck up, anyway.

Brittany's in the kitchen when Santana finally emerges from the bedroom, but she doesn't choose to go to her immediately as she finds Eli sitting on the couch, munching on grapes and watching some weird ass cartoon on television. She heads on over to him and drops a kiss to his forehead, her hand stroking over his skull and fingers gliding over his thick, dark locks of hair, but he barely pays attention and focuses on whatever is playing instead, so she decides that this is probably the time to stop making up excuses not to talk to Brittany and just do it.

She walks into the kitchen and finds her wife packing Eli's backpack. Though she's surprised when she doesn't find Brittany's hips wiggling subconsciously to the low hum of the radio playing over the corner, and even more surprised when Brittany twists her head and Santana finds a deep frown etched into a pale forehead and pink lips pressed tightly together.

Apparently Brittany didn't get over it magically in the night.

Santana doesn't need to talk to know that Brittany's already aware of her presence, especially seeing as Brittany's entire body visibly stiffened the second she got in here, and she hates it, choosing to frown herself and fold her arms over her chest as she leans against the doorway, preparing herself to speak.

"Britt," she starts, but her wife just finishes packing their son's backpack with a few stuffed toys before tugging on the zip a little too hard and shutting the back with a forced noise.

"Eli and I are going to the studio for the day," Brittany replies, her voice cold and hard and Santana closes her eyes and clenches her jaw against it. She's said she's sorry, what else is she supposed to do?

_Damn. _The least Brittany could do is show _some _type of willingness to discuss their argument, and then maybe they could get over it.

"So we're not even going to talk about last night?" She blurts out, her voice more angered than intended.

She winces herself, knowing doing this will only make things worse; but to Brittany's credit, she basically ignores her, the classic Santana Lopez-Pierce defense mechanism (more like bitch switch) and grabs the backpack, swinging it over her shoulder and not even bothering to look Santana in the eye as she brushes past her and into the living room.

Obediently, Santana follows, huffing out a little and watches as her wife and son interact as Brittany hands Eli the backpack and tells him they're about to leave so he needs to get his shoes on. He does as he's told, and Santana gets this weird fluttering in her stomach as she watches her family do the simplest of tasks because despite their simplicity, they seem to fascinate her.

(Sometimes she's still convinced that this is all a dream.)

(Because there's no way Santana freaking Lopez could've got _this _lucky to have the most perfect family in the world.)

Soon enough, Brittany's telling Eli to hug his mami goodbye as they're leaving, and Santana stagger back a bit as a force hits her legs and small arms wind around her legs. She crouches down immediately, wrapping her son up in an embrace, his tiny chin digging into her shoulder and tells him to have a good day before he's whipping out her arms and running for the front door, scrabbling against it and making strained noises as he tries and fails to reach for the door latch.

A soft smiles etches its way across Santana's lips, and even though she feels bad for her son right now, he's just so damn cute that she has to leave him be for a few seconds so she can take this in. One day he's going to have to reach _down _for the latch, and so she's going to treasure these moments while she can.

Except it doesn't last for long because then Brittany's stepping forward, interrupting the moment and reaching for it, but it's totally worth it when he shoots a sharp glance at her, a fierce pout and frown on his face and tells her, "No, I do it," with his small arms folding over his chest and his whole demeanor not looking at _all_scary as he's wearing a Superman backpack and, oh yeah, is two years old.

(Santana can totally see herself in him when he does things like this.)

"I'll do it."

"I'll do it."

Both Santana and Brittany speak at the same time, and her heart fills with affection when eyes slide to her, a soft love and adoration blooming through the blueness gazing in her direction because they always have these little moments where they speak at the same time to correct their son and it brings them together in this weird bubble. It's like they're both realizing all over again how they have a family together and that their lives are perfect and it's just... it really is fucking magical.

Or rather, that _usually _happens.

Not this time though, because the longer those blue eyes stare at her, the quicker the emotions behind them switch from love to anger, and Santana gulps as guilt pangs through her for what feels like the millionth time. She barely has time to register that look because then Brittany's whirling away, grabbing the door, pulling it open wider and stepping out without a goodbye kiss, and Santana realizes as she watches her wife take a step out the apartment that that's _never _happened before.

And that's what makes her body propel forward and hand snap out to grab her wife's wrist, because she doesn't want Brittany to leave mad at her. She had to endure Brittany going to sleep mad at her and right now, if she's honest, she feels like she's fucking dying here.

She just hates this.

"Britt," she pants, suddenly out of breath, her heart racing a mile a minute.

But Brittany spins around, looks her dead in the eye with a stony glare and all words just seep away from Santana's tongue so she's left there just staring, open-mouthed and wordless. And it makes Brittany scoff, makes her face fill with disappointment and anger as she tears her wrist away, shaking her head because Santana's never been good at saying things at the right time and apparently never will be.

"We'll be back later," she says, her voice cold.

And Santana can only gulp as she watches her wife turn away and head out their building with Eli in hand, helping him climb into the car before she does so herself and then drives away, leaving Santana to kick the door shut and growl to herself.

She really is a fucking idiot sometimes.

/

Brittany pretty much ignores her for the entire day.

She doesn't text back to the texts Santana sends, she doesn't pick up her phone when Santana calls and Santana considers going down to the studio to confront her, but then she supposes she's trying to get Brittany _less _pissed at her, so making her argue in front of her colleagues and possibly students wouldn't be the best way to go about it.

Still, she tries to call and text her, but Brittany only sends one vague, short text back saying that Eli's okay and that she's not sure when they'll be back, and Santana has a hard time finding the strength to _not _be pissed off because it's not like she fucking _meant _to miss Brittany's meeting. She's already done everything she can to show Brittany that; she's explained it and yet Brittany's still pissed as hell, despite knowing that Santana would never _ever _purposely disappoint or screw up with Brittany because she just loves her too damn much.

So when she receives a text from Quinn telling her that Brittany's just dropped by their apartment—despite telling Santana that she'd be at the studio all day—Santana's fuse blows and she texts her friend telling her to go into another room because she's going to ring her.

"_Brittany's really pissed off," _is the first thing Quinn says when she picks up the phone.

Santana rolls her eyes because fucking _yeah, _she knows that. "Yeah, I am fucking aware of that, Quinn," she hisses back. "I don't have to be Sherlock fucking Holmes to realize that."

"_Alright, Lopez, don't take your shit out on me because you fucked up."_

She narrows her eyes fiercely and grinds her teeth together. "Oh, fuck off, Fabray. This is all your fault."

"_My fault!?"_Quinn almost screeches as she repeats the words. **"**_How the fuck is it _my fault_!?"_

Bringing a hand up to her head, Santana pinches the bridge of her nose and squeezes hard, trying to release the tension she can feel building up within her skull. "You and your fucking drinks," she retorts. "I wouldn't have missed Britt's meeting if you hadn't suggested that."

"_Oh, _please_," _her friend drags out the last word. **"**_This is all _your _fault. You could've said no, you forgot, so don't be a bitch and try and blame me because I didn't do this. _You_did."_

Sure, it isn't _entirely _true because she wouldn't be in this situation if she'd just gone home and if Quinn hadn't suggested they go for celebratory drinks, but she just doesn't have the strength to argue with Quinn. She's already argued enough with someone she loves for the time being so she just shakes her head, lets her eyes fall shut and takes in a long, deep breath through her nose, filling her lungs with oxygen.

"Whatever," she lets out. "All I know is she's pissed and I've tried to explain but she won't listen."

"_Well you're gonna have to do something. Try one more time and if not, me and you can go out for drinks and discuss it."_

She can't help but scoff because going out for drinks is what got her into this situation in the first place. But seeing as she's been sitting on her ass all day, frustrated and alone, it seems like a better option if Brittany's planning on avoiding her for the entire night _as well _as the entire day.

"Sure," she bobs her head in acceptance, despite her friend not being able to see. "Text you in a bit."

"_Sure, S. Talk soon."_

Santana hangs up and drops the phone to her lap, staring at it for a long five minutes before she picks it back up again and begins typing.

/

Barely even ten minutes later, she's storming through the house, fists clenched and comical steam blowing from her ears as she heads for the bedroom.

She text Brittany, she tried to be nice about everything and calm, too, and yet Brittany just threw it back in her face and was unnecessarily rude. And okay, Santana loves the girl, loves her with everything she has, but right now Brittany's just really fucking her off. There's only so many times a girl can try and explain and apologize, and it's just getting tedious and highly irritating now because Santana can't do anything more than she already has.

She's really been fucking trying.

And to top it all off, about a minute after she sent the freaking text, there was a knock on the front door and she opened it to find fucking Rachel standing there, looking sheepish and apologetic as she ushered Eli into the house. Which means not only is Brittany pretty much fucking ignoring her the entire day, but she's also _sent_their son back to the house; and worst of fucking all, she didn't even do it _herself._

Of all fucking people, she got Rachel-fucking-Berry to _drop_their son off because Brittany can't stand to see Santana _that _much, and honestly? That doesn't sit well with Santana.

In fact, it doesn't sit well with Santana _that much_that she can't actually be in this house anymore. She can't just sit here with her son, feeling guilty about missing _one fucking meeting _after trying to explain it to Brittany countless times, and so she decides to go out for those drinks with Quinn. And maybe she's not even going to talk about how to apologize to Brittany. Ha. Fucking take that.

(Irresponsible considering her two year old son is in the other room with his other mother God knows where, but Santana's not really in the mindset to think about that.)

Throwing the closet doors open, she chooses an outfit, something simple but sexy, and dresses herself before she re-does her make-up and sends Quinn a text telling her to _meet at Barney's in 30. _Quinn confirms with a single text back, and Santana dolls herself up a little more before making a quick call and then heads back through the house toward the living room to find Eli and Rachel sitting on the sofa, playing with a few of his toys.

Rachel glances up after hearing her footsteps, and excuses herself from Eli, patting his head before she makes her way over to her, biting her lip like she's not sure how Santana's feeling.

(Santana doesn't really know.)

"Are you going out?" Rachel asks, her eyes trailing over Santana's outfit, lingering a little too long for comfort at her cleavage.

Santana, being the irritated, angered bitch she is, lifts both eyebrows and challenges her with a glare. "Is that a problem?"

The other girl doesn't even have to speak to let Santana know the answer to that as she twists her neck, peers over her shoulder at Eli on the sofa, and then looks back, but Santana just continues to stare because really, what she does is none of Rachel's business.

(Actually, is kind of is. They've become really good friends in the last year or two, but Santana still likes to pretend like Rachel isn't really family.)

"No," the shorter brunette replies, ducking her head. "But I don't think you should leave your two-year old son alone," she adds on as quietly as possible.

Santana chortles loudly, throwing her head back a little as a pang of hurt slices through her because wow, she can't actually believe Rachel thought she'd do such a thing. She tilts her head back down after laughing for a good minute and folds her arms across her chest, cocking her hip out slightly as she shifts her weight on her legs and looks at her friend.

"You really think I'd do that?" She questions, but both of them know it's rhetorical which is why Rachel just stares blankly. "I rang my mom while I was getting changed," she elaborates. "She's coming over in five minutes."

Rachel stares at her for a long moment before finally nodding, and Santana almost lashes out and asks why the fuck she was glaring like she didn't believe her because Santana's done a lot of things, but one of those things will never be leaving her two-year old son home alone without supervision. And she's actually pretty fucking offended that Rachel would even accuse her of doing that, but she decides she's pissed off enough without listening to hobbits and closes her eyes, inhales deeply through her nose and tells herself to chill out.

"Mami! Mami!"

The sound of her son calling makes the burning anger in her chest falter a little, but wanting to be safe, she looks away from her friend before opening her eyes to glance at her son. "Yeah, baby?"

She didn't register the tone of Eli's voice when he called for her, so when she finds him staring at her with a furrowed brow and a pouted lip—the _exact _same way Brittany looks at her when she's concerned, upset or worried—her heart damn near breaks. Her legs are leading her over to the sofa before she can make a decision to do so, and she perches on the cushion at the same time Eli clambers over to her and plops himself down on her lap, burying his face into her collarbone, his small hands clutching at her clothing like he never wants to let go.

Hand stroking over the back of his head, she leans down to his ear and begins rocking him slowly. "Whoa, Eli... _ssshhh,_**" **she coos and presses a kiss to his warm head. "What's happened?"

Eli muffles something against her skin, but she doesn't hear it clearly and urges him back until he's staring up at her, the exact same expression on his face but now with a deep frown etched into his forehead.

"What did you say?"

He ducks his chin further into his chest and Santana hesitates for a split second before remembering Rachel's randomly standing behind her, and that Eli did get the guarded side of Santana, whereas he got all his positive traits like brain, smile, sense of humor and eye color from Brittany; which means he's not going to want to tell Santana what's wrong while Rachel's still in the room. So to resolve that issue, she twists her neck and peers back at her friend, lifting an eyebrow.

"You can go now," she says and okay, maybe that was a little unnecessary and rude, but right now she couldn't give a fuck if she's offended Rachel. The girl just assumed she'd leave her goddamn son so _fuck _Rachel.

Brown eyes widen, but otherwise the shorter brunette nods and sheepishly makes her way out the door, muttering a quiet farewell to Eli who shoots her a wary smile before the door clicks and she's gone.

Santana turns back to her son. "So tell me," she murmurs, fingers toying with his short, black hair.

For exactly twenty-eight seconds, Eli doesn't speak. He just sits there, toying with her necklace and never looking her in the eye, but after that time is up, he lifts his head gingerly and his big, blue eyes, shaded with concern and worry gaze at her. And _fuck, _she knew she screwed up with Brittany and felt bad about that, but now with her son staring her at like this, she feels like complete _shit. _Like straight up, one hundred percent shit.

It's those fucking blue eyes. She knows it.

"Where's momma?" He asks, quietly.

Santana wasn't quite expecting that, but she replies anyway. "She's out, baby," she strokes over his head. "Why?"

Small fingers tug lightly on her necklace. "You look sad," Eli whispers, his eyes boring into hers. "And momma not here."

Her son really is a freaking genius, just like his other mother, and usually that isn't a bad thing but right now it feels like a curse.

She can't show that though. She can't tell her son that his parents are arguing and that she is sad, because then it'll start affecting him, too, and she doesn't want that. The idea that she's fighting with Brittany is hard enough for her to accept, and it's making her worry and feel like shit so God knows what it'll do to Eli.

So instead, she musters a fake smile, printing it on her face with a strength she didn't know she had and shakes her head.

"No, baby," she says, curving her lips up further and ignoring the way her face wants to reject the movement. She doesn't want to smile. "I'm not sad and momma's just gone out. She'll be back later, but I'm going out with Aunt Quinn, tonight." She pauses and looks at her son. "Is that okay?"

Eli's face immediately lights up and he bounces on her lap. "Aunt Quinny!" He claps his hands, his mouth splitting into a grin to reveal two dimples. "Can she come here?"

It's such a switch of emotion that Santana can't help but chuckle. "No," she tells him and his face drops. "We're going out, so Abuela's coming to look after you."

At the mention of _abuela, _Eli's face brightens like a spark again and he jumps up from her lap to the floor, jigging up and down with excitement. He really does love his abuela.

"Yay!" He celebrates and Santana holds her stomach, palm pressed against the tight fabric as she laughs. He's so cute. "Abuela!"

"Yeah, sweetie, Abuela's coming," she coos and holds out her hands. Tiny ones slip into her palms and she curls her fingers around warm, tanned skin, tugging him forward until he's staring up at her. "But if she sees your toys all over the floor, she isn't going to be happy, is she?"

Those blue eyes widen considerably so and Eli shakes his head vigorously, probably remembering the time abuela came over and took away his teddy bear, Humphrey, for a day because he hadn't put his toys away. Admittedly, it probably was a little harsh, and Santana would've never done that as she spoils her son rotten, but then again it did get him to clear up the mess (or rather chuck his toys in the chest at the end of his bed) and so it worked.

(Which is why she may be using it to her advantage now.)

Eli squeals when she raises an eyebrow, backing up her question about how unhappy his abuela will be if she comes here to find a messy room, and he scurries off down the hall to clear up, leaving Santana to lean back on the sofa, let out a long sigh and rub a hand over her face as she thinks of the night ahead.

It just doesn't seem that fun if she's not with Brittany.

/

So, in the moment, when she was angry and storming through the house, wanting nothing more to get out of it and go and get drunk and forget that the love of her life is really pissed at her, calling her mom seemed like a good idea. Calling Maria to come and look after her two-year old son seemed like the best idea in the world, because it meant she wouldn't have to worry about a strange babysitter looking after Eli and Maria wouldn't mind because she loves spending time with Eli and the same goes for Eli.

Except now Maria's here...

And now she's firing questions at Santana like they're going out of fashion...

And now Santana's wondering why she ever called the woman at all because she's about to tear her own face off and cover her ears with it just so she doesn't have to listen to her mom.

"So are you and Brittany fighting?" The older woman asks for the eleventh time, leaning against the doorway to Santana and Brittany's bedroom.

Taking in a deep breath, Santana tries to think of another answer that isn't filled with curses as her son's only a room away and will probably hear them and repeat them to Brittany, or someone, at a later date, and get Santana in shit _again, _and instead focuses on putting on her earrings.

"I don't wanna talk about it, ma."

Maria lets out a long, disappointed and slightly frustrated sigh. "So that's a yes, then," she concludes and pushes off the door, coming up behind Santana. "Santana, you really—"

"Mom," she cuts in, dropping her arms to her side and staring at the woman with a hardened glare through the mirror. "Please, just drop it. I don't want to talk about it."

She ends her sentence by walking back and around Maria, grabbing her clutch bag from the bed and tucking it beneath her arm. Maria just stares at her thought, her lips parted like she doesn't quite know how to approach the subject now, and Santana really kind of fucking wishes that it wasn't a subject that _has _to be approached. After all, it's hers and Brittany's lives, they've done well for years without fighting and just because now they're having one major one doesn't mean every fucking family member, including the non-blood related ones such as Quinn and Rachel, can interject with their fucking opinions.

They'll sort it out; they just need to get over the initial anger.

"Santana, I know you can be difficul—"

"Just stay out of this!" She half-yells, making her way out the bedroom with her mom hot on her heels. She runs her hands through her hair, trying to ignore the heat flaring up over her skin. "Seriously, we're grown ups, we're big girls. We can sort this out by ourselves and I don't want to talk to you or anyone else about it."

It feels like she's going round in fucking circles, because even though she's quite clearly putting her point across that she has no interest in discussing her personal matters with anyone that _isn't _Brittany, Maria still stays adamant, still stays close and still keeps chipping at her, poking the angered beast, which really, is stupid with _anyone... _but with Santana Lopez-Pierce? It's fucking _idiotic._

"I would stay out of this, but I just really think you two should make up—"

Like she said, to poke the angered beast that is Santana Lopez-Pierce is pretty fucking idiotic, but when it's coming from her mom, who basically fucked off and left her alone for at least twenty years of her damn life, that's just plain insanity. The woman must be plain unhinged to do it, like off—the—fucking—door—frame—and—lying—on—the—floor unhinged, and combine the poking with a jibe that infers that Maria actually knows a fucking thing about Santana, and Santana's relationship... well, it just makes her snap.

"Oh, like you can have an opinion!" She starts, twirling around to glare at Maria in the hallway. Startled, the older woman stops and stares, wide-eyed. "You know _nothing _about me and Brittany," she spits and she knows she's about to go for a low blow, but she's like the freaking hulk when she gets pissed off: she just can't stop. "And you've been a part of this family for less than a _year, _and if you want to keep being a part of it then I'd highly advise you keep your mouth shut."

For a split second, it feels good because it renders Maria completely speechless; but then she sees the gloss covering faded, brown eyes and sees the hurt and regret flesh across them, too and suddenly her words don't seem like such a good thing anymore.

And in the back of her mind, she can just hear that little 'Brittany' voice that tells her that that probably wasn't necessary. That spelling out the truth like that, or some version of the truth, was probably a little harsh because okay, Maria made a lot of mistakes, but she's trying to make up for them, and she's just trying to make sure that Santana and Brittany don't wind up with a pathetic divorce like she did with the waste of space she once called a husband.

Which is why, with a sigh, a shake of her head and a lick of her lips, Santana Lopez-Pierce... the one fierce and feared woman of the Record Company world... _apologizes_.

"Look, I'm sorry," she says and tries to ignore the slight widening of faded brown eyes as she heads into the living room. Even though sure, she's a little surprised she just apologized without Brittany poking her in the back physically to do so, too. "But please, ma," she bends down to kiss Eli on the head and makes her way to the front door, grabbing her coat and hooking it over her arm before turning to the other woman. "Just leave it to me and Britt. We're adults, and we can sort it out."

There must be something in her tone, something soft and exhausted, because Maria doesn't argue anymore and instead bobs her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Okay," she says and there's no fight left in her voice.

Santana turns and opens the door, blowing Eli a kiss before stepping outside, only pausing when she hears her mom call her name again.

"But be careful, Santana," she continues and perfectly shaped eyebrows pinch together when Santana looks over her shoulder to Maria leaning against the door with a knowing smile. "You mean a lot to a lot of people."

She feels like her mom says something else, but she doesn't want to know.

Instead she offers her mom a weak smile before twisting back around and heading down the stoop, ready to meet Quinn.

/

Just as she's approaching Barney's, she feels her phone vibrate inside her bra and picks it out, not even bothering to look at the name on screen because it's probably Quinn and she can just say that she's outside and about to walk in.

Except when she picks up, before she can even greet the person on the other end, they're pretty much yelling at her and well, safe to say it's definitely _not _Quinn.

"_Where are you and why is your mom here?"_

Santana takes in a deep breath, pointedly ignoring the way her heart flutters at the sound of Brittany's voice after more than twelve hours without it.

"Good evening to you, too, darling," she drawls sarcastically and hears the deadening silence down the phone which tells her her wife's not best pleased. She laughs a little into the cold night sky. "And I'm going out with Quinn. Since you and I apparently don't seem to talk anymore, I thought I'd arrange someone to look after Eli just in case you decided not to come home tonight."

"_Don't do that, Santana," _Brittany replies within a second, and Santana can hear her not biting the sarcastic bait. **"**_Don't turn it around and make me look like the bad guy."_

In the middle of the side walk, Santana just stops. "The _bad _guy?" She repeats, her tone dripping with disbelief. "So _I'm _being the _bad _guy?" She screeches, her hand curling into a fist by her thigh.

There's no way she can actually be _the bad guy _here?

Fuck, how can there even _be _a bad guy!?

"_Are you being serious right now?"_

Yes, she fucking is, and Santana knows that Brittany knows that which is why she doesn't even give her the satisfaction of a scathing comment back. Instead, she clenches her jaw, grinds her teeth together and tries to keep it together.

But, as always, she fails. It's the Snix, just coming out of her like hot lava and she can't stop it. Not even with Brittany.

"I didn't mean to miss your fucking meeting, Brittany," she growls, her fingers tightening around her phone. "I already told you that, so fucking stop trying to make me feel guilty."

She knows it was the wrong thing to say the second it leaves her mouth. She knows it, yet she still doesn't blurt out an apology in the long, four seconds of deafening silence that follows afterward. And really, she should've said it, and it's only after hearing a rough exhale then a long beep when Brittany hangs up, that she realizes that because she doesn't mean to be a super bitch all the time and she _really _didn't mean to miss Brittany's meeting and she was just saying.

But because she's stubborn, because she's Santana Lopez-Pierce and she doesn't apologize to _anyone, _her mind decides to switch from feeling guilty to feeling fucking angry and within three seconds of Brittany hanging up, she's debating whether or not to throw her fucking phone against the wall and scream _fuck you _in the top of her voice to the city skyline because she's _told _Brittany she didn't mean to miss it and she genuinely meant it, and if Brittany can't see that, then that's her problem.

Except at the very last moment, just before she's about to say goodbye to her phone and wrack up a bill of five hundred dollars to buy a new one and cover the pavement in pieces of cell phone, a rational, calming piece of her mind somehow settles in and tells her that realistically, she's already pissed Brittany off enough, and if Brittany wants to contact her later, wants to forgive her, then destroying the only way of talking to her probably _isn't _best.

So instead, she just stuffs her phone back in her pocket and reaches for the door to Barney's.

/

Quinn's totally dealt with Santana in a shockingly bad mood before, but this... well, this is really something.

Even Santana can tell herself.

"Why hasn't she forgiven you then?"

The second Santana walked into the bar, and after she'd gruffly ordered Ketel One and a Jack Daniels on the rocks as a shooter and Will behind the bar had raised his eyebrows and nodded, looking terrified for his own life, Quinn had called her name, brought her over to the table and slid her a packet of cigarettes, telling her that she needed to calm down as she talked it out with her. Obviously, at first, Santana had pretty much told her to do one and that she didn't want to talk about it, but the whole reason she was there was to freaking talk about it, so after much protesting and five cigarettes, she opened her mouth and it all poured out.

And now she's here, Quinn staring at her with one of her patented _you're an idiot _expressions that apparently, are only reserved for Santana.

Great.

"I don't fucking know," she hisses back, taking a long sip of her drink before picking up a new cigarette and placing it between her lips. "Why don't you ask her?" She mumbles around the white stick, reaching for the lighter and testing it until there's a flame. She lights the cigarette and tips her head back as she inhales, feeling the toxic gas infect her lungs. "I explained and she's just pissed at me for nothing," she shrugs, bringing her vision back down to her friend.

Quinn stares at her for a long moment, and by long moment, she means like, at least three minutes, completely silent. It's a little irritating, but Santana can see the cogs working in the blondes mind and knows that if anyone's going to tell her anything straight, or tell her she's a complete idiot and needs to do something about it, then it'll be Quinn.

"Did you even say sorry?"

Santana lifts an eyebrow in her friends direction, bringing the glass to her lips. "She knows I'm sorry," she replies with a slight shrug, taking a sip.

Hazel eyes roll and the blonde leans forward, elbows against the table and hands clasped around her beer bottle. "That's not what I asked," she says and Santana almost rolls her eyes herself. "I asked if you said sorry. I asked if you actually said the words _I'm sorry._**"**

It's such a simple question, and Santana's mouth opens to bark out a chortle, to throw her head back and laugh at Quinn because _of course _she's apologized, when she stops short. Her mind goes back over the events, back over the heated conversations between her and Brittany and she realizes that actually, _no, _she didn't actively apologize to Brittany. She told her she didn't mean to miss the meeting, but she never said those specific words and by the time she realizes this, she's staring blankly, mouth open like a damn fish.

"Shit," she gasps, the realization setting in as she lowers her glass to the table.

A smirk comes across Quinn's lips and she leans back into the booth, giving Santana that knowinglook that really gets underneath her skin. Her arms fold over her chest and she watches Santana for a long moment, watches her take note of how fucking dumb she is and honestly, Santana doesn't blame her. There aren't many situations where Santana will admit to being wrong, or will stand to be corrected, and if Santana were in Quinn's position, she'd be watching it, too.

"Exactly," the blonde finally says. "So go back and apologize to Brittany. Go back and apologize _properly _with flowers, or candy, or some shit, and rejoin your wife and your son, and just be fucking _happy,_**" **she bobs her head along to her words and Santana just looks at her. "Because you become unbearably miserable when you're like this, and I don't have time to listen and deal for your bullshit all the damn time because you're too stubborn to say you're sorry. I have a lady at home, which means I have responsibilities and funnily enough, Lopez," she leans forward even further and lifts both eyebrows, the _you know I'm right _expression already on her face. "You have responsibilities, too. So throw a tantrum, do what you need to do, but then grow up and go home to apologize."

Quinn stands from the table, saying nothing more and gives Santana one final knowing smirk before slapping down a few dollars on the table and picking her coat up from the booth beside her. She doesn't even put the coat on, just throws it over her shoulders and flicks up the lapels around her neck, then taps the table once, twice with her knuckles, right beside Santana's elbow and walks out the bar.

And all Santana can do is just stare as her friend leaves. Because Quinn was right. She _does _have responsibilities, and she shouldn't be here, at a freaking bar, drinking away her problems like she's twenty-four again. She can't just give her son—her freaking _son_**—**to her mom and ask her to look after her because that's not what a responsible parent would do. That's something her mom would've done back when she was a shitty excuse of a parent.

Santana's not going to become that.

And she's certainly not going to lose Brittany just because she's too fucking stubborn to apologize for something she did wrong.

Without another word, she tips back the rest of her drink, whisks out the booth, jacket in hand and heads on home.

/

The apartment's dark when she steps inside, and she's about to flick on the light, call out Brittany's name to see if she's still up, when she sees movement in the corner of her eye.

She sets down her keys, clutch and the grocery bag containing flowers and packets of Dots, and kicks off her shoes, then heads on over to the sofa where she finds her wife sleeping, legs curled up near her body and hands buried beneath her face in lieu of a pillow, her face scrunched despite her sleeping state. And she decides, as she glances down at Brittany, that she's never going to piss her off or have an argument with her like this again, because she hates how she can quite obviously see dried tear tracks on her cheeks and how there are lines on her forehead from frustration just because she's been an asshole.

Letting out a long sigh, she moves down into a crouch beside the sofa, her knees pressing into the hardwood floor and rests her arms on the space in front of Brittany on the couch, just so she can stare at her.

Sometimes she really does hate how beautiful Brittany is. It makes her feel a hundred times worse than she would with anyone else just by looking at her.

"S'nt'a," Brittany grumbles, wriggling around in her sleep, her face burying into the pillow. "S'nt'a, pl'se."

It doesn't make much sense, but Santana doesn't care. She reaches out and strokes her fingertips along the creases in her wife's brow, trying to smooth them out, and the second she touches Brittany, the blonde begins to stir, her eyelashes fluttering until dark brown stares into bright blue.

"Santana?" Brittany croaks, her eyes readjusting as she stretches out her arms, bones audibly cracking.

"I'm here, baby," Santana mutters, her voice a hushed whisper and touch light and repetitive. She moves it down to Brittany's neck, then back up to her jaw where her hand frames the hinge of her jaw. "I'm here and I'm sorry."

Previous to her words, Brittany seemed a little confused by the sudden appearance and waking up, but now she looks straight up, one hundred percent confused, and Santana's not sure whether that's because she's suddenly appeared here, whether that's because Brittany's just woken up and is in a daze, or whether that's because Brittany's just fucking confused as to why Santana's apologizing after being such a stubborn ass for the past day or two.

Whichever way it is though, Santana doesn't even give her wife a chance to explain the confusion before she's just blurting out her apology.

"I'm sorry," she repeats and fair eyebrows knit together, so she elaborates further. "I never apologized, and I should've done, and I'm sorry that I missed your meeting," she breathes out in one long sentence, wetting her lips to pause her sentence. "There's nothing I can do now but apologize, unless you want me to ring up those rich guys and do it all over again, and I'll do that if it'll make you happy and if it'll make you believe me that I'm genuinely sorry because I am." She sucks her lips into her mouth and strokes her thumb over the soft skin of her wife's cheek, waiting for her to say something but she doesn't. "'I'll even fly you to Tokyo or Beijing, or wherever the hell they are, and we can take them out and go over the entire meeting again, just so I can be there to support you," she pauses and takes in a deep breath. "Because I love you, Britt, and I don't want to fight, and I'm sorry for being such a gigantic asshole and for missing your meeting. I really am."

There's a stretch of silence after she speaks, which is barely filled by the sound of them breathing. But after a few long moments of blue eyes narrowing at Santana, and of Brittany taking in Santana's words and debating whether or not to forgive her, Brittany finally lets out a long exhale, turns the corners of her lips up and rolls her eyes a little as she shakes her head.

"Don't do that," she says, and it's entirely _not _what Santana was expecting that she jerks her head back a little, eyes flicking off quizzically.

"Don't do what, B?"

A pale hand comes up to slide up a tanned forearm, smoothing over the groove of her elbow before long fingers wrap around Santana's bicep and tug. At first she's a little confused, but then she gets that Brittany's trying to get her to lie down next to her and she smiles to herself, knowing that the worst is over as she shifts and maneuvers her body so she's pressed against her wife, lying on her side with their noses bumping together.

"Don't go to Tokyo or Beijing," the blonde finally says after a long while, sighing against Santana's mouth as she gets so close their lips almost touch. "I don't want you going away."

A slight grin etches its way across Santana's face. "You don't?"

"No," her wife answers, reaching up to stroke a hand over her cheek, pushing back a few stray hairs. "I want you to stay here with me," she whispers and lets her eyes drop from Santana's hairline to her eyes. "Even if you are a gigantic asshole sometimes."

Santana chuckles before she leans in, stroking her nose against a pale cheek once before she completely closes the distance and brings their mouths together in a slow kiss.

/

She's done this so many times, and she'll do it so many times _more,_ but this, with Brittany's thighs pressed against her cheeks, her perfect body squirming beneath Santana's tongue and fingers, arching against the mattress and pushing her core harder against her mouth... it's just the hottest thing Santana's ever seen.

It _never_fails in making her all hot around the collar. It never fails in making her _so_hard, making that pressure form in the base of her back _so_high that she has to buck her hips against the mattress to release some of the tension because there's no way in hell she's going to go all thirteen-year-old-boy and blow her load before she's even inside her wife.

It's just that hot, that even when Brittany cries out, her body quaking violently, Santana doesn't stop.

She doesn't stop when fingernails scratch against her scalp as her wife gets worked up again, and she doesn't stop when Brittany squeals at the lips wrapping around her clit and sucking expertly, causing her to fall over the edge for the second time.

She just doesn't stop lapping eagerly at Brittany until she's counted the fourth orgasm and Brittany's cries are now whimpers and she's tugging on Santana's hair, chanting, **"**_Please, I can't, stop," _over and over again. But even then, she just brings her wife down from her fourth high, strokes her tongue over her one last time before she kisses her way up her body and settles her hips between her thighs, pressing their lips together in a sloppy kiss.

Because it's just so hot being with Brittany—it always is—and she really doesn't know how after all this time, after all the times they've slept together, or even just done _stuff _like a hormonal teenage couple, that the craving, the need, the want and the intensity, is still there.

But she's not going to question it. She just loves it, and that's the bottom line.

"_Ugh, _baby_,_**" **is mumbled against her mouth and she pulls her lips back, propping herself on one elbow as she glances down at her wife, her hand stroking through her hair and the other making a path down the left side of her ribs.

"Yeah?" She hushes, her voice hoarse and husky.

Hands come up to her face, framing it, and she closes her eyes at the feel of Brittany pulling her down to press their lips together again softly. It's a silent request for what she wants, what she needs, and Santana lets her body swirl in the emotions, the shared emotions, as she kisses her wife and reaches down between them, wrapping her fist around herself and shifting until she's pressing against Brittany's entrance.

But a second before she sheathes herself inside her, she takes a second to pull back, to take a deep breaths to steady herself because she knows the second she's inside her wife, she'll feel her clenching, she'll feel Brittany squirming and she'll feel Brittany tighten her grip around the nape of her neck as she throws her head back against the pillow and by then, she'll want nothing more than to just make love to her wife for as long as possible.

Right now, though, she wants a moment because she wants to memorize everything about Brittany, and it's strange, because she spends so much of her time watching her wife, learning her and appreciating her, but it never really feels like enough. It never makes her feel like it's any more real. It never makes her truly believe that she actually _did _get _this _lucky, that she actually got the girl, and made her her wife. It never makes her believe that her happy ending really is true, because it still feels too good to true.

So she takes that moment.

She takes a moment and admires the woman beneath her. She admires those pink lips, that creamy skin, those blue eyes. She admires that dusting of freckles over the bridge of Brittany's nose and those high cheekbones. She admires everything about her, including the way she feels, warm beneath Santana's body, and breathes her in, knowing that she's truly hers because there's still a part of her that's scared that she'll wake up one day, roll over to an empty bed and her life, the last four years of it, will have all just been a dream.

But the best part about not really believing that this is her life, is that whenever she has one of these doubful moments, whenever she closes her eyes and wonders how someone like her got so lucky, when she opens her eyes, Brittany's right there before her, and she realizes that no, she's not dreaming. This is real and _God, _she really is the luckiest woman on the planet.

The back of Brittany's hand brushing over her cheek brings her back, and she looks into her wife's eyes, her breath catching at the sparkling blue before her.

"Baby," the blonde starts, whispering the words through slightly swollen lips. "What is it?"

Santana pauses for a second, and the answer just comes so easy. "I just really love you," she replies, her lips curving up into a smile.

Brittany just beams a grin at her before one hand slides around her neck and pulls her down into a deep kiss, and the other presses against the small of her back and urges her inside her wife. She slides in, pushing through slick heat, and moans tumble from both their mouths, merging into one loud sound as they connect as much as physically possible. The feel of Brittany clenching around her causes heat to blossom all over her skin, and she breaks the kiss, moving to bury her face into a pale neck as she feels her wife stretch to accommodate her and _fuck, _it just feels so good.

Once she inhales deeply once or twice, she lifts her head and nudges her nose against Brittany's face until her wife stares up at her through dark, wanting eyes, and then she begins to move. Their mouths come back together automatically, and Santana's tongue licks into the blonde's mouth as she pulls out slowly, waiting until only the very tip of her cock is inside before she pushes back in again, bottoming out and groaning out the arousal that sparks and fizzles through her very being.

And she knows she could lose it right here and now, just being inside Brittany, but this isn't about her. This is about making Brittany feel good because she deserves it. This is about Santana apologizing to Brittany because really, Santana knows that Brittany could do much better than her, yet for some reason—for some fucking reason that Santana will never know—this angel, this perfection, this angel in a humans body, chose _her... _and she'll be damned if she messes it up.

Legs wind around her waist in the midst of her thoughts, and she breaks their kiss, their lips parting with a smack as ankles cross at her lower back and heels dig into her. Brown eyes meet blue, and Santana gazes down at her wife through the hazel of arousal as she pulls out again, pushing back in a little faster, a little harder, watching the pleasure flicker across Brittany's face.

"Santana..." The blonde moans, teeth tugging at her own bottom lip. "_Oh, _Santana..."

"Feel good, baby?" Santana husks back, smiling to herself when the only reply Brittany can manage is a drawn out moan.

The vocal sounds coming from beneath her spur her on, and she glides her palms over smooth skin, curving around Brittany's sides until she brushes over her wife's breasts, fingers rolling her nipples and pinching lightly, causing hips to buck up into hers. She moves slowly, gradually, her touch soft and gentle, despite her thrusts being a little less of that, and she finds herself wanting to kiss every inch of Brittany's face and so she does just that, letting her lips brush over her nose, her cheekbones, her eyelids... everything she was worshiping and admiring just a moment ago.

Pressure builds at the back of her spine as she continues moving inside Brittany, and nails scratch at her back — a sure sign that her wife wants more of her — and so she shifts to the side, moving her lips back to Brittany's to kiss her as she leans on one forearm and lets the other glide between their bodies until she's rubbing tight circles over Brittany's clit with her thumb. The gesture makes Brittany's hips jerk and move erratically against her own, and she gasps as the thighs around her hips tighten and pull her deeper inside Brittany until she's tapping _that _spot and adding pressure to the tip of her own cock, quickly pulling her to her own edge.

"Jesus, _Britt,_**" **she groans against Brittany's mouth, finding it hard to keep up with kissing as the pace increases. She rests her forehead against her wife's and uses the arm she's leaning on to brush away the strands of hair sticking to pale, sweaty skin. Then she just lets her eyes bore into Brittany's, lets her lips hover Brittany's and lets her breath kiss Brittany's as she can't kiss her herself.

It only takes a few more well-aimed thrusts and switch of circles from wide and slow, to tight and fast, around her clit before Brittany's squeaking and throwing her head back, her hands grasping desperately at Santana's tanned shoulders as she spasms hard beneath her, clenching and coming hard in sudden waves.

"_Oh my god, babe!_**" **She almost screams, nails digging into her wife's skin.

Then her teeth bite down hard on her bottom lip, and Santana almost stops moving herself because this really is a thing of beauty, watching her wife shatter like glass due to what she's doing, but she keeps her movements up, bringing her wife down and simultaneously bringing herself closer.

And it's only ten seconds later that she's falling over the edge, shocks of white hot pleasure jolting through her being, and she holds herself still, deep inside Brittany, as she groans her name and spills into her. Mid-way through her orgasm, she feels Brittany stiffen beneath her again and peels open her eyes to find her face scrunching up, her legs tightening once more around Santana's hips as a second orgasm hits her.

It's unexpected, but so welcoming, and she can't help but smile to herself as she leans down and presses her lips against Brittany's, her tongue delving into her mouth as they ride out their highs together.

/

Moments later, when they're still kissing lazily, their tongues stroking against one another, Santana lifts her hips and slowly pulls out from her wife. Their lips break and Brittany whimpers from a double loss, but nudges Santana off her until Santana's lying on her back and Brittany's curling into her, a hand gripping her bicep, a leg thrown over hers and slipping in between and she's pressing a delicate kiss to the underside of her jaw.

Reaching up to the back of the sofa, Santana grabs the blanket slung over it and pulls it around their bodies, wrapping them up, because they may have just had quite possibly the best sex of their lives and are still breathing heavily and recovering from their intense orgasms, but they've still got a son and God knows they don't want him to suddenly wonder in and see a little too much of his parents.

Once that's done, once they're settled down, they lie there in the most comfortable of silence for a few seconds until Santana feels the need to kiss her wife one more time and uses the tip of her finger beneath Brittany's chin to tilt her head up so she can lean down and bring their mouths together once more, softly, before she settles down again and winds her arm around Brittany's back, her hand stroking up and down smooth, slightly damp skin.

"So," she starts, clearing her throat when the rasp causes her sentence to break up. Brittany chuckles lightly before she continues. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?" She ponders, sucking her lips into her mouth as she thinks of their argument. "I mean... Do I have to go to Japan?" She asks, tucking her chin to her chest and lowering her eyes as Brittany glances up at her.

The blonde grins, rolls her eyes and then shakes her head, and Santana finds herself grinning at the look on her wife's face because she knows it means _you're ridiculous._

"You could," Brittany replies, shifting until she's propped up on her elbow, leaning over Santana slightly, her hair hanging down over her right shoulder and tickling a tanned upper arm. "But it'd be pointless considering they're English," she giggles, the hand she has pressed against Santana's abdomen moving up through the valley of her breasts to her neck, cupping it.

And Santana can't really resist as she cranes her neck and kisses her wife again, slowly and softly, her mouth shifting until she's sucking on Brittany's top lip, because she kind of just wants to kiss Brittany all the damn time. They kiss like that for a little while, too, nothing more than just lips against lips, brushing over each other delicately, and hands grazing over tanned and cream skin, but then Santana seems to clear her mind for a split second to remember the reason why they're kissing anyway, and she can't hold back because she needs to know if she's still in trouble 'cause if she is, that means she's going to have to try and figure out a way to make it up to Brittany even more and God knows what she's going to do.

"Britt," she mumbles against her wife's mouth, trying to stop kissing but failing because, well, it's _Brittany. _**"**Britt," she repeats, whining a little and the lips on her own curve up into a large smile, causing them to part. "You still haven't answered my question," she pouts, staring up at her wife.

Brittany just eyes her though, lifts an eyebrow and smirks. "I totally did," she argues and winks, referring to moments before.

Santana tilts her head to the side with a less than amused expression on her face, realizing where this is going. "Are we_really_going to argue about this?"

The blonde lets out a small chuckle as she leans down and pecks Santana's nose, before pulling back and settling down, arm slinging low around her waist and head resting on her shoulder. "No, baby," she utters, nuzzling into her skin. "We're done arguing."

"Can that be forever?" Santana questions, tucking her chin to her chest and blinking down at her wife. She knows she sounds like a child, but she doesn't care. She hates arguing with Brittany. "'Cause I hate it."

"Mhmm," the blonde hums, tipping her head back to kiss Santana once softly before she settles down for good, clinging to her like she never wants to let go. "As long as you're not an ass."

"I'm always an ass."

"But you're my ass."

Santana grins to herself as she kisses blonde hair, feeling the sleep tug at her eyelids and hearing the slight drone in Brittany's voice that tells her she's about to fall asleep, too. She knows they probably shouldn't fall asleep here because Eli could come out any moment and see them, but she can't really find it in herself to care because she's warm, she's comfortable, she's loved and she's got the love of her life in her arms. She's good.

So instead, she yawns loudly and pulls Brittany further into her. "Yeah, baby," she gets out, sleepily, settling down for the night and closing her eyes. "I'm yours."

/

**That was a hell of a lot longer than I intended, but I hope you enjoyed! Leave a review if you feel like I deserve one! Thank you :)**


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